THE 

HEAVENLY  TWINS 


BY 

MADAME  SARAH  GRAND 

AUTHOR    OF    '    IDEALA,"   ETC.     ETC. 


"  They  call  us  the  Heavenly  Twins." 

"  What,  signs  of  the  Zodiac?"  said  the  Tenor. 

"  No  ;  signs  of  the  times,"  said  the  Boy. 


NEW  YORK 

THE   CASSELL   PUBLISHING   CO. 

31  EAST  I;TH  ST.  (UNION  SQUARE) 


COPYRIGHT,  1893,  BY 
CASSELL   PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


A II  rights  reserved. 


THE    MERSHON    COMPANY    PRESS. 
RAHWAY,    N.   J. 


M4 


HAlM 


The  time  is  racked  with  birth-pangs  ;  every  hour 

Brings  forth  some  gasping  truth,  and  truth  new-born 

Looks  a  misshapen  and  untimely  growth, 

The  terror  of  the  household  and  its  shame, 

A  monster  coiling  in  its  nurse's  lap 

That  some  would  strangle,  some  would  starve  ; 

But. still  it  breathes,  and  passed  from  hand  to  hand, 

And  suckled  at  a  hundred  half-clad  breasts 

Comes  slowly  to  its  stature  and  its  form, 

Calms  the  rough  ridges  of  its  dragon  scales, 

Changes  to  shining  locks  its  snaky  hair, 

And  moves  transfigured  into  Angel  guise, 

Welcomed  by  all  that  cursed  its  hour  of  birth, 

And  folded  in  the  same  encircling  arms 

That  cast  it  like  a  serpent  from  their  hold  ! 

—Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


PROEM. 


Mendelssohn's  "  Elijah.1 

m 


& 


-f—r 


r 

He,  watch-ing  o-ver       Is  -  ra  •  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleep*. 

FROM  the  high  Cathedral  tower  the  solemn  assurance  floated 
forth  to  be  a  warning,  or  a  promise,  according  to  the  men 
tal  state  of  those  whose  ears  it  filled  ;  and  the  mind,  familiar 
with  the  phrase,  continued  it  involuntarily,  carrying  the  run 
ning  accompaniment,  as  well  as  the  words  and  the  melody, 
on  to-  the  end.  After  the  last  reverberation  of  the  last  stroke 
of  every  hour  had  died  away,  and  just  when  expectation 
had  been  succeeded  by  the  sense  of  silence,  they  rang  it 
out  by  day  and  night  —  the  bells  —  and  the  four  winds  of 
heaven  by  day  and  night  spread  it  abroad  over  the  great 
wicked  city,  and  over  the  fair  flat  country,  by  many  a  tiny 
township  and  peaceful  farmstead  and  scattered  hamlet,  on, 
on,  it  was  said,  to  the  sea — to  the  sea,  which  was  twenty  miles 
away  ! 

But  there  were  many  who  doubted  this  ;  though  good  men 
and  true,  who  knew  the  music  well,  declared  they  had  heard 
it,  every  note  distinct,  on  summer  evenings  when  they  sat 
alone  on  the  beach  and  the  waves  were  still ;  and  it  sounded 
then,  they  said,  like  the  voice  of  a  tenor  who  sings  to  himself 
softly  in  murmurous  monotones.  And  some  thought  this  must 
be  true,  because  those  who  said  it  knew  the  music  well,  but 
others  maintained  that  it  could  not  be  true  just  for  that  very 
reason  ;  while  others  again,  although  they  confessed  that  they 
knew  nothing  of  the  distance  sound  may  travel  under  special 
circumstances,  ventured,  nevertheless,  to  assert  that  the  chime 
the  people  heard  on  those  occasions  was  ringing  in  their  own 
hearts ;  and,  indeed,  it  would  have  been  strange  if  those  in 
whose  mother's  ears  it  had  rung  before  they  were  born,  who 

225822 


viii  PROEM. 

knew  it  for  one  of  their  first  sensations,  and  felt  it  to  be,  like 
a  blood  relation,  a  part  of  themselves,  though  having  a  sep 
arate  existence,  had  not  carried  the  memory  of  it  with  them 
wherever  they  went,  ready  to  respond  at  any  moment,  like 
sensitive  chords  vibrating  to  a  touch. 

But  everything  in  the  world  that  is  worth  a  thought  becomes 
food  for  controversy  sooner  or  later,  and  the  chime  was  no 
exception  to  the  rule.  Differences  of  opinion  regarding  it 
had  always  been  numerous  and  extreme,  and  it  was  amusing 
to  listen  to  the  wordy  warfare  which  was  continually  being 
waged  upon  the  subject. 

There  were  people  living  immediately  beneath  it  who  wished 
it  far  enough,  they  said,  but  they  used  to  boast  about  it  never 
theless  when  they  went  to  other  places — just  as  they  did  about 
their  troublesome  children,  whom  they  declared,  in  like  man 
ner,  that  they  expected  to  be  the  death  of  them  when  they  and 
their  worrying  ways  were  within  range  of  criticism.  It  was  a 
flagrant  instance  of  the  narrowness  of  small  humanity  which 
judges  people  and  things,  not  on  their  own  merits,  but  with 
regard  to  their  effect  upon  itself  ;  a  circumstance  being  praised 
to-day  because  importance  is  to  be  derived  from  its  importance, 
and  blamed  to-morrow  because  a  bilious  attack  makes  thought 
on  any  subject  irritating. 

Other  people  liked  the  idea  of  the  chime,  but  were  not  con 
tent  with  its  arrangement ;  if  it  had  been  set  in  another  way, 
you  know,  it  would  have  be  so  different,  they  asserted,  with  as 
much  emphasis  as  if  there  were  wisdom  in  the  words.  And 
some  said  it  would  have  been  more  effective  if  it  had  not  rung 
so  regularly,  and  some  maintained  that  it  owed  its  power  to 
that  same  regularity  which  suggested  something  permanent  in 
this  weary  world  of  change.  Among  the  minor  details  of  the 
discussion  there  was  one  point  in  particular  which  exercised 
the  more  active  minds,  but  did  not  seem  likely  ever  to  be 
settled.  It  was  as  to  whether  the  expression  given  to  the 
announcement  by  the  bells  did  not  vary  at  different  hours  of 
the  day  and  night,  or  at  different  seasons  of  the  year  at  all 
events  ;  and  opinion  differed  as  widely  upon  this  point  as  we 
are  told  they  did  on  one  occasion  in  some  other  place  with 
regard  to  the  question  whether  a  fish  weighed  heavier  when  it 
was  dead  than  when  it  was  alive — a  question  that  would  cer 
tainly  never  have  been  settled  either,  had  it  not  happened, 
after  a  long  time  and  much  discussion,  that  someone  accident 
ally  weighed  a  fish,  when  it  was  found  there  was  no  difference, 


PROEM.  IX 

The  question  of  expression,  however,  could  not  be  decided 
in  that  way,  expression  being  imponderable ;  and  it  was  pretty 
generally  acknowledged  that  the  truth  could  not  be  ascer 
tained  and  must  therefore  remain  a  matter  of  opinion.  But 
that  did  not  stop  the  talk.  Once,  indeed,  someone  declared 
positively  that  the  state  of  a  man's  feelings  at  the  moment 
would  influence  his  perceptions,  and  make  the  chimes  sound 
glad  when  he  was  glad,  and  mournful  when  he  was  melan 
choly  ;  but  nobody  liked  the  solution. 

Let  them  wrangle  as  they  might,  however,  the  citizens  were 
proud  of  their  chime,  and  for  a  really  good  reason.  It  meant 
something  !  It  was  not  a  mere  jingle  of  bells,  as  most  chimes 
are,  but  a  phrase  with  a  distinct  idea  in  it  which  they  under 
stood  as  we  understand  a  foreign  language  when  we  can  read 
it  without  translating  it.  It  might  have  puzzled  them  to  put 
the  phrase  into  other  words,  but  they  had  it  off  pat  enough  as 
it  stood,  and  they  held  it  sacred,  which  is  why  they  quarrelled 
about  it,  it  being  usual  for  men  to  quarrel  about  what  they 
hold  sacred,  as  if  the  thing  could  only  be  maintained  by  hot 
insistence — the  things  they  hold  sacred,  that  is — although  they 
cannot  be  sure  of  them,  like  the  forms  of  a  religion  which 
admit  of  controversy,  as  distinguished  from  the  God  they 
desire  to  worship  about  whom  they  have  no  doubt,  and  there- 
fore  never  dispute. 

In  this  latter  respect,  however,  the  case  of  the  people  of 
Morningquest  was  just  the  reverse  of  that  which  obtains  in 
most  other  places,  for  in  consequence  of  the  hourly  insistence 
of  the  chime,  their  most  impressive  monitor,  they  talked  much 
more  of  Him  whom  they  should  worship  than  of  various  ways 
to  worship  him  ;  and  the  most  persistent  of  all  the  questions 
which  occupied  their  attention  arose  out  of  the  involuntary 
but  continuous  effort  of  one  generation  after  another  to  define 
with  scientific  accuracy  and  to  everybody's  satisfaction  his 
exact  nature  and  attributes  ;  in  consequence  of  which  efforts 
there  had  come  to  be  several  most  distinct  but  quite  contra 
dictory  ideas  upon  the  subject.  There  were  some  simple- 
minded  folk  to -whom  the  chime  typified  a  God  essentially 
masculine,  and  like  a  man,  hugely  exaggerated,  but  somewhat 
amorphous,  because  they  could  not  see  exactly  in  what  the  ex 
aggeration  consisted  except  in  the  size  of  him.  They  pictured 
him  sitting  alone  on  a  throne  of  ivory  and  gold  inlaid  with 
precious  stones  ;  and  recited  the  catalogue  of  those  mentioned 
;n  the  Book  of  the  Revelation  by  preference  as  imparting 


X  PROEM. 

a  finfc  scriptural  flavor  to  the  idea.  And  he  sat  upon  the  throne 
day  and  night,  looking  down  upon  the  earth,  and  never  did 
anything  else  nor  felt  it  monotonous.  Buddha  himself,  in 
Nirvana,  could  not  have  attained  to  a  greater  perfection  of 
contemplation  than  that  with  which  they  credited  this  curious 
divinity,  who  served  solely  for  a  finish  to  their  mental  range 
as  the  sky  was  to  their  visual  ;  a  useful  point  at  which  to  aim 
their  rudimentary  faculty  of  reverence. 

But  others,  again,  of  a  different  order  of  intelligence,  had 
passed  beyond  this  stage  and  saw  in  him  more 

of  a  creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized  ; 

very  like  Jove,  but  unmarried.  He  was  both  beneficent  and 
jealous,  and  had  to  be  propitiated  by  regular  attendance  at 
church  ;  but  further  than  that  he  was  not  exacting  ;  and  there 
fore  they  ventured  to  take  his  name  in  vain  when  they  were 
angry,  and  also  to  call  upon  him  for  help,  with  many  apologies, 
when  there  was  nobody  else  to  whom  they  could  apply  ;  al 
though,  so  long  as  the  current  of  their  lives  ran  smoothly  on, 
they  seldom  troubled  their  heads  about  him  at  all. 

There  were  deeper  natures  than  those,  however,  who  were 
not  content  with  this  small  advance,  and  these  last  had  by 
degrees,  as  suited  their  convenience  but  without  perceiving 
it,  gradually  discovered  in  him  every  attribute,  good,  bad,  or 
indifferent,  which  they  found  in  themselves,  thus  ascribing  to 
him  a  nature  of  a  highly  complex  and  most  extraordinarily 
inconsistent  kind,  less  that  of  a  God  than  of  a  demon.  To 
them  he  was  still  a  great  shape  like  a  man,  but  a  shape  to  be 
loved  as  well  as  feared  ;  a  God  of  peace  who  patronized  war  ; 
a  gentle  lamb  who  looked  on  at  carnage  complacently  ;  a  just 
God  who  condemned  the  innocent  to  suffer  ;  an  omnipotent 
God  who  was  powerless  to  make  his  law  supreme  ;  and  they 
reserved  to  themselves  the  right  of  constantly  adding  to  or 
slightly  altering  this  picture  ;  but  having  completed  it  so  far, 
they  were  thoroughly  well  satisfied  with  it,  and,  incongruous 
as  it  was,  they  managed  to  make  it  the  most  popular  of  all  the 
presentments,  partly  because,  being  so  flexible,  it  could  be 
adjusted  to  every  state  of  mind  ;  but  also  because  there  was 
money  in  it.  Numbers  of  people  lived  by  it,  and  made  name 
and  fame  besides  ;  and  these  kept  it  going  by  damaging  any 
body  who  ventured  to  question  its  beauty.  For  there  is  no 
faith  that  a  man  upholds  so  forcibly  as  the  one  by  which  he 
earns  his  livelihood,  whether  it  be  faith  in  the  fetish  he  has 


PROEM.  Xt 

helped  to  make,  or  in  a  particular  kind  of  leather  that  sells 
quickest  because  it  wears  out  so  fast. 

In  these  latter  days,  however,  it  began  to  appear  as  if  the 
supremacy  of  the  great  masculine  idea  was  at  last  being  seri 
ously  threatened,  for  even  in  Morningquest  a  new  voice  of 
extraordinary  sweetness  had  already  been  heard,  not  his,  the 
voice  of  man  ;  but  theirs,  the  collective  voice  of  humanity, 
which  declared  that  "  He,  watching,"  was  the  all-pervading 
good,  the  great  moral  law,  the  spirit  of  pure  love,  Elohim, 
mistranslated  in  the  book  of  Genesis  as  "  He  "  only,  but  sig 
nifying  the  union  to  which  all  nature  testifies,  the  male  and 
female  principles  which  together  created  the  universe,  the 
infinite  father  and  mother,  without  whom,  in  perfect  accord 
and  exact  equality,  the  best  government  of  nations  has  always 
been  crippled  and  abortive. 

Those  who  heard  this  final  voice  were  they  who  loved  the 
chime  most  truly,  and  reverenced  it ;  but  they  did  not  speak 
about  it  much  :  only,  when  the  message  sounded,  they  listened 
with  that  full-hearted  pleasure  which  is  the  best  praise  and 
thanks.  Mendelssohn  must  have  felt  it  when  the  melody  first 
occurred  to  him,  and  the  words  had  wedded  themselves  to  the 
music  in  his  soul ! 


— t 

Be,  watch-ing o-ver        Is  -  ra  -  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 

And  the  chime  certainly  had  power  to  move  the  hearts  of 
many ;  but  it  would  be  hard  to  say  when  it  had  most  power, 
or  upon  whom.  Doubtless,  the  majority  of  those  who  had 
ears  to  hear  in  the  big  old  fashioned  city  heard  not,  use  hav 
ing  dulled  their  faculties  ;  or  if,  perchance,  the  music  reached 
them  it  conveyed  no  idea  to  their  minds,  and  passed  unheeded. 
It  was  but  an  accustomed  measure,  one  more  added  to  the 
myriad  other  sounds  that  make  up  the  buzz  of  life,  and  help, 
like  each  separate  note  of  a  chord,  to  complete  the  varied 
murmur  which  is  the  voice  of  "  a  whole  city  full." 

But  of  course  there  were  times  when  it  was  specially  apt 
to  strike  home — in  the  early  morning,  for  instance,  when  the 
mind  was  fresh  and  hope  was  strong  enough  to  interpret  the 
assurance  into  a  promise  of  joy  ;  and  again  at  noon,  when 
fatigue  was  growing  and  the  mind  perceived  a  sympathetic 
melancholy  in  the  tones  which  was  altogether  restful;  but  it  was 


xii  PROEM. 

at  midnight  it  had  most  power.  It  seemed  to  rise  then  to  the 
last  pitch  of  enthusiasm,  sounding  triumphant,  like  the  special 
effort  that  finishes  a  strain,  as  if  to  speed  the  departing  inter 
val  of  time  ;  but  when  it  rang  again,  after  the  first  hour  of 
the  new  day,  its  voice  had  dropped,  as  it  were,  to  that  tone  of 
indifference  which  expresses  the  accustomed  doing  of  some 
monotonous  duty  which  has  become  too  much  of  a  habit  to 
excite  either  pleasure  or  pain.  To  the  tired  watcher  then,  foi 
whom  the  notes  were  mere  tones  conveying  no  idea,  the  soft 
melancholy  cadence,  dulled  by  distance,  was  like  the  half- 
stifled  echo  of  her  own  last  stifled  sigh. 

It  is  likely,  however,  that  the  chime  failed  less  of  its  effect 
outside  the  city  than  it  did  within ;  but  there  again  it  de 
pended  upon  the  hearer.  When  the  mellow  tones  floated  above 
the  heath  where  the  gipsies  camped,  only  one,  perchance, 
might  listen,  lifting  her  bright  eyes  with  pleasure  and  longing 
in  them,  dumbly,  as  a  child  might,  yet  showing  for  a  moment 
some  glimmering  promise  of  a  soul.  But  to  many  in  the  vil 
lage  close  at  hand  the  chime  brought  comfort.  It  seemed  to 
assure  the  sick,  counting  the  slow  hours,  that  they  were  not 
forsaken,  and  helped  them  to  bear  their  pain  with  patience  ; 
it  seemed  to  utter  to  the  wayworn  a  word  which  told  them  their 
trouble  was  not  in  vain  ;  it  seemed  to  invite  all  those  who  waited 
and  were  anxious  to  trust  their  care  to  Him  and  seek  repose. 
It  was  all  this,  and  much  more,  to  many  people :  and  yet,  when 
it  spread  in  another  direction  over  the  fields,  it  meant  nothing 
to  the  yawning  ploughman,  either  musical  or  poetical,  had  no 
significance  whatever  for  him  if  it  were  not  of  the  time  of  day, 
gathered,  however,  with  the  help  of  sundry  other  sensations  of 
which  hunger  and  fatigue  were  chief.  It  probably  conveyed 
as  much,  and  neither  more  nor  less,  to  the  team  he  drove. 

But  perhaps  of  all  the  affairs  of  life  with  which  the  chime 
had  mingled,  the  most  remarkable,  could  they  be  collected  and 
recorded,  would  be  the  occasions  on  which  the  hearing  of  the 
message  had  marked  a  turning  point  in  the  career  of  someone 
person,  as  happened,  once  on  a  summer  afternoon,  when  it  was 
heard  by  a  Lancashire  collier — a  young  lad  with  an  unkempt 
mop  of  golden  hair,  delicate  features,  and  limbs  which  were 
too  refined  for  his  calling,  who  was  coming  up  the  River 
Morne  on  a  barge. 

The  river  winds  for  a  time  through  a  fertile  undulating  bit 
of  country,  and  nothing  of  the  city  can  be  seen  until  you  are 
ajrnost  in  it,  except  the  castle  of  the  Duke  of  Morningo^uest, 


PROEM.  xin 

high  perched  on  a  hill  on  the  farther  side,  and  the  spire  of  the 
cathedral,  which  might  not  attract  your  attention,  however,  if 
h  were  not  pointed  out  to  you  above  the  trees.  When  the 
chime  floated  over  this  sparsely  peopled  tract,  filling  the  air 
with  music,  but  coming  from  no  one  could  tell  whence,  there 
was  something  mysterious  in  the  sound  of  it  to  an  imaginative 
listener  in  so  apparently  remote  a  place ;  and  once,  twice,  as 
the  long  hours  passed,  the  young  collier  heard  it  ring,  and  won 
dered.  He  had  nothing  to  do  but  listen,  and  watch  the  man  on 
the  bank  who  led  the  horse  that  was  towing  the  barge ;  or  address 
a  rare  remark  to  his  solitary  companion — an  old  sailor,  dressed 
in  a  sou'. wester,  blue  jersey,  and  the  invariable  drab  trowsers, 
tar-besprent,  and  long  boots,  of  his  calling,  who  steered  auto 
matically,  facing  the  meadows  in  beautiful  abstraction.  He 
would  have  faced  an  Atlantic  gale,however,with  that  same  look. 

When  the  chime  rang  out  for  the  third  time,  the  young 
collier  spoke : 

"  It's  the  varse  of  a  song,  maybe  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Aye,  lad,"  was  the  laconic  rejoinder. 

The  barge  moved  on — passed  a  little  farmhouse  close  to  the 
water's  edge  ;  passed  some  lazy  cattle  standing  in  a  field 
flicking  off  flies  with  their  tails  ;  passed  a  patient  fisherman, 
who  had  not  caught  a  thing  that  day,  and  scarcely  expected 
to,  but  still  fished  on.  The  sun  sparkled  down  on  the  water  ; 
the  weary  man  and  horse  plodded  along  the  bank  ;  far  away, 
a  sweet  bird  sang  ;  and  the  collier  spoke  again. 

"  Dost  tha'  know  the  varse  ? "  he  said. 

The  old  man  had  been  brought  up  in  those  parts  ;  he  knew 
it  well  ;  and  slowly  repeated  it  to  the  lad,  who  listened  without 
a  sign,  sitting  with  his  dreamy  eyes  fixed  on  the  water  : 

"  He,  watching  over  Israel,  slumbers  not,  nor  sleeps." 

There  was  another  long  silence,  and  then  the  lad  spoke 
once  more,  with  apathetic  gravity,  asking :  "  Who's  He  ?  " 

The  old  man  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  distant  reach  of  the 
river,  and  moved  no  muscle  of  his  face. 

"  I  guess  it's  Christ,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Ah  niver  'eerd  tell  on  'im,"  the  collier  answered  slowly. 

"  Hast  'niver  'eerd  tell  on  Christ  ?  "  the  old  man  asked  in 
measured  machine-like  tones.  "  I  thowt  ivery  one  know'd  on 
'im.  Why,  what  religion  are  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  me  feyther's  a  Liberal — leastways  'im  as  brought  me 
up,"  was  the  passionless  rejoinder,  slowly  spoken  ;  "  but  ah 
doan't  know  no  one  o'  the  name  o'  Christ,  an',  what's  more, 


xiv  PROEM. 

ah's  sure  'e  doan't  work  down  our  way," — with  which  he  saunt 
ered  forward  with  his  hands  in  his  trowser  pockets,  and  sat  in 
the  bow  ;  and  the  old  man  steered  on  as  before. 

How  like  a  mind  is  to  a  river  !  both  may  be  pure  and  trans 
parent  and  lovable,  and  strong  to  support  and  admirable  ;  each 
may  mirror  the  beauties  of  earth  and  sky,  and  still  have  a 
wonderful  beauty  of  its  own  to  delight  us  ;  both  are  always 
moving  onward,  bound  irresistibly  to  be  absorbed  in  a  great 
ocean  mystery,  to  be  swept  away  irreclaimably,  without  hope 
of  return,  but  leaving  memories  of  themselves  in  good  or  evil 
wrought  by  them  ;  and  both  are  pure  at  the  outset,  but  can  be 
contaminated,  when  they  in  turn  contaminate  ;  and,  being  per 
verted  in  their  use,  become  accursed,  and  curse  again  with  all 
the  more  effect  because  the  province  of  each  was  to  bless. 

The  collier  lad  in  the  bow  of  the  barge  felt  something  of  the 
fascination  of  the  river  that  day.  He  saw  it  sparkle  in  the 
sunshine,  he  heard  it  ripple  along  its  banks,  he  felt  the  slow 
and  dreamy  motion  of  the  boat  it  bore  ;  and  his  mind  was 
filled  with  unaccustomed  thought,  and  a  strange  yearning 
which  he  did  not  understand.  There  was  something  singularly 
attractive  about  the  lad,  although  his  clothes  were  tattered, 
his  golden  hair  and  delicate  skin  were  begrimed,  his  great 
bright  eyes  had  no  intelligent  expression  in  them,  and  there 
was  that  discontented  undisciplined  look  about  his  mouth 
which  is  common  to  uneducated  men.  He  had  no  human 
knowledge,  but  he  had  capacity,  and  he  had  music,  the  divine 
gift,  in  his  soul,  and  the  voice  of  an  angel  to  utter  it. 

What  passed  through  his  dim  consciousness  in  the  interval 
which  followed  his  last  remark,  no  one  will  ever  know  ;  but 
the  chime  had  once  more  sounded  ;  and,  suddenly,  as  he  sat 
there,  he  took  up  the  strain,  and  sang  it — and  the  labourers  in 
the  fields,  and  the  loiterers  by  the  river,  and  the  ladies  in  their 
gardens,  even  the  very  cattle  in  the  meadows,  looked  up  and 
listened,  wondering,  while  he  varied  the  simple  melody,  as 
singers  can,  finding  new  meaning  in  the  message,  and  filling 
the  summer  silence  with  perfect  raptures  of  ecstatic  sound. 

It  was  a  voice  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  men,  and  one  who 
heard  it  knew  this,  and  followed  the  barge,  and  took  the  lad 
and  had  him  taught,  so  that  in  after  days  the  world  was  ready 
to  fall  at  his  feet  and  worship  the  gift. 

And  so  time  passed.  Change  followed  change,  but  the 
chime  was  immutable.  And  always,  whatever  came,  it  rang 
out  calmly  over  the  beautiful  old  city  of  Morningquest,  and 


PROEM.  XV 

entered  into  it,  and  was  part  of  the  life  of  it,  mixing  itself 
impartially  with  the  good  and  evil  ;  with  all  the  sin  and  suffer 
ing,  the  pitiful  pettiness,  the  indifference,  the  cruelty,  and  every 
form  of  misery-begetting  vice,  as  much  as  with  the  purityabove 
reproach,  the  charity,  the  self-sacrifice,  the  unswerving  truth, 
the  patient  endurance,  and  courage  not  to  be  daunted,  which 
are  in  every  city — mixing  itself  with  these  as  the  light  and  air 
of  heaven  do,  and  with  effects  doubtless  as  unexpected  and  as 
fine  ;  and  ready  also  to  be  a  help  to  the  helpless,  a  guide  to 
the  rash  and  straying,  a  comfort  to  the  comfortless,  a  reproach 
to  the  reckless,  and  a  warning  to  the  wicked.  Perhaps  an 
ambitious  stranger,  passing  through  the  city,  would  hear  the 
chime,  and  pause  to  listen,  and  in  the  pause  a  flash  of  recollec 
tion  would  show  him  the  weary  way  he  had  gone,  the  disap 
pointments  which  were  the  inevitable  accompaniments  of  even 
his  most  brilliant  successes  in  the  years  of  toil  that  had  been 
his  since  he  made  the  world  his  idol  and  swerved  from  the 
Higher  Life  ;  and  then  he  would  ask  himself  the  good  of  it 
all,  and  finding  that  there  was  no  good,  he  would  go  his  way, 
cherishing  the  new  impression,  and  asking  of  all  things, 

"  Is  it  too  late  now  ?  " 

And  perhaps  at  the  same  moment  a  lady  rolling  past  in  her 
carriage  would  say,  "  How  sweet  !  "  or  the  beauty  of  the  bells 
might  win  some  other  thoughtless  tribute  from  her,  if  she 
heard  the  chime  at  all  ^  but  probably  she  never  heard  it, 
because  the  accustomed  tones  were  as  familiar  as  the  striking 
of  the  hour — the  striking  of  an  hour  that  bore  no  special 
significance  for  her,  and  therefore  set  no  chord  vibrating  in 
her  soul.  The  thoughts  of  her  mind  deafened  her  heart  to  it 
as  completely  as  the  thunder  of  a  waggon  had  at  the  same 
time  deafened  the  waggoner's  ears  while  the  bells  uttered  their 
message  above  him.  And  fso  it  was  with  the  doctor,  over 
worked  and  anxious,  hurrying  on  his  rounds  ;  the  grasping 
lawyer,  absorbed  in  calculation,  and  all  the  other  money-grub 
bers  ;  the  indolent  woman,  the  pleasure-seeker,  and  the  hard- 
pressed  toiler  for  daily  bread  :  if  they  heard  they  heeded  not 
because  their  hour  had  not  yet  come.  At  least  this  is  what 
some  thought,  who  believed  that  for  every  one  a  special  hour 
would  come,  when  they  would  be  called,  and  then  left  to 
decide,  as  it  were,  between  life  and  death-in-life  ;  if  they 
accepted  life,  the  next  message  would  be  fraught  with  strength 
and  help  and  blessing  ;  but  if  they  rejected  it,  the  bells  would 
utter  their  condemnation,  and  leave  them  to  their  fate. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  PAGE 

I.  CHILDHOODS  AND  GIRLHOODS, i 

II.  A  MALTESE  MISCELLANY, 171 

III.  DEVELOPMENT  AND  ARREST  OF  DEVELOPMENT,      .        .        .241 

IV.  THE  TENOR  AND  THE  BOY — AN  INTERLUDE,     .        .        .  353 
V.  MRS.  KILROY  OF  ILVERTHORPE, 463 

VI.  THE  IMPRESSIONS  OF  DR.  GALBRAITH,      ....  553 


BOOK   I. 


CHILDHOODS  AND  GIRLHOODS. 


The  spring  is  the  pleasantest  of  the  seasons  ;  and  the  young  of  most 
animals,  though  far  from  being  completely  fashioned,  afford  a  more  agree 
able  sensation  than  the  full  grown  ;  because  the  imagination  is  entertained 
with  the  promise  of  something  more,  and  does  not  acquiesce  in  the  present 
object  of  the  sense. — Burke  on  the  Sublime. 

I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  Francis  Galton  in  believing  that  education 
and  environment  produce  only  a  small  effect  on  the  mind  of  anyone,  and 
that  most  of  our  qualities  are  innate. — Darwin. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

4T  nineteen  Evadne  looked  out  of  narrow  eyes  at  an  untried 
world  inquiringly.  She  wanted  to  know.  She  found  her- 
:  forced  to  put  prejudice  aside"  in  order  to  see  beneath  it,  deep 
down  into  the  sacred  heart  of  things,  where  the  truth  is,  and 
the  bewildering  clash  of  human  precept  with  human  practice 
ceases  to  vex.  And  this  not  of  design,  but  of  necessity.  It 
was  a  need  of  her  nature  to  know.  When  she  came  across 
something  she  did  not  understand,  a  word,  a  phrase,  or  an 
allusion  to  a  phase  of  life,  the  thing  became  a  haunting  demon 
only  to  be  exorcised  by  positive  knowledge  on  the  subject. 
Ages  of  education,  ages  of  hereditary  preparation  had  prob 
ably  gone  to  the  making  of  such  a  mind,  and  rendered  its 
action  inevitable.  For  generations  knowledge  is  acquired,  or, 
rather,  instilled  by  force  in  families,  but,  once  in  a  way,  there 
comes  a  child  who  demands  instruction  as  a  right  ;  and  in  her 
own  family  Evadne  appears  to  have  been  that  child.  Not 
that  she  often  asked  for  information.  Her  faculty  was  suffi 
cient  to  enable  her  to  acquire  it  without  troubling  herself  or 
anybody  else,  a  word  being  enough  on  some  subjects  to  make 
whole  regions  of  thought  intelligible  to  her.  It  was  as  if  she 
only  required  to  be  reminded  of  things  she  had  learnt  before. 
Her  mother  said  she  was  her  most  satisfactory  child.  She 
had  been  easy  of  education  in  the  schoolroom.  She  had 
listened  to  instruction  with  interest  and  intelligence,  and  had 
apparently  accepted  every  article  of  faith  in  God  and  man 
which  had  been  offered  for  her  guidance  through  life  with 
unquestioning  confidence  ;  at  least  she  had  never  been  heard 
to  object  to  any  time-honoured  axiom.  And  she  did,  in  fact, 
accept  them  all,  but  only  provisionally.  She  wanted  to  know. 
Silent,  sociable,  sober,  and  sincere,  she  had  walked  over  the 
course  of  her  early  education  and  gone  on  far  beyond  it  with 
such  ease  that  those  in  authority  over  her  never  suspected 
the  extent  to  which  she  had  outstripped  them. 


TWINS. 


It  was  h^r  fathrej*w»hostpuck  the  "keynote  to  which  the  tune 
of  her  early  *  fr&e  fleet  Hal  11fk.was\set:  She  was  about  twelve 
years  old  at  the  time,  and  they  were  sitting  out  on  the  lawn 
at  Fraylingay  one  day  after  dinner,  as  was  their  wont  in  the 
summer  —  he,  on  this  occasion,  under  the  influence  of  a  good 
cigar,  mellow  in  mind  and  moral  in  sentiment,  but  inclining 
to  be  didactic  for  the  moment  because  the  coffee  was  late  ; 
she  in  a  receptive  mood,  ready  to  gather  silently,  and  store 
with  care,  in  her  capacious  memory  any  precept  that  might 
fall  from  his  lips,  to  be  taken  out  and  tried  as  opportunity 
offered. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,  father,"  Evadne  answered.  "  I  think  she  is 
in  the  drawing  room." 

"  Never  say  you  think,  my  dear,  about  matters  of  fact," 
he  said.  "  When  it  is  possible  to  know  it  is  your  business  to 
find  out,  and  if  you  cannot  find  out  you  must  say  you  don't 
know.  It  is  moral  cowardice,  injurious  to  yourself,  not  to 
own  your  ignorance  ;  and  you  may  also  be  misleading,  or 
unintentionally  deceiving,  someone  else." 

"  How  might  the  moral  cowardice  of  not  owning  my  igno 
rance  be  injurious  to  myself,  father  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,"  he  answered,  "  you  would  suffer  in 
two  ways  ?  If  the  habit  of  inaccuracy  became  confirmed,  your 
own  character  would  deteriorate  ;  and  by  leading  people  to 
suppose  that  you  are  as  wise  as  themselves,  you  lose  opportu 
nities  of  obtaining  useful  information.  They  won't  tell  you 
things  they  think  you  know  already." 

Evadne  bent  her  brows  upon  this  lesson  and  reflected  ;  and 
doubtless  it  was  the  origin  of  the  verbal  accuracy  for  which  she 
afterward  became  notable.  Patient  investigation  had  always 
been  a  pleasure,  but  from  that  time  forward  it  became  a 
principle  also.  She  understood  from  what  her  father  had  said 
that  to  know  the  facts  of  life  exactly  is  a  positive  duty  ;  which, 
in  a  limited  sense,  was  what  he  had  intended  to  teach  her  ; 
but  the  extent  to  which  she  carried  the  precept  would  have 
surprised  him. 

Her  mind  was  prone  to  experiment  with  every  item  of  infor 
mation  it  gathered,  in  order  to  test  its  practical  value  ;  if  she 
could  turn  it  to  account  she  treasured  it  ;  if  not,  she  rejected 
it,  from  whatever  source  it  came.  But  she  was  not  herself 
aware  of  any  reservation  in  her  manner  of  accepting  instruc 
tion.  The  trick  was  innate,  and  in  no  way  interfered  with  her 


THE   HEAVENLY    TWINS.  5 

faith  in  her  friends,  which  was  profound.  She  might  have 
justified  it,  however,  upon  her  father's  authority,  for  she  once 
heard  him  say  to  one  of  her  brothers  :  "  Find  out  for  your 
self,  and  form  your  own  opinions,"  a  lesson  which  she  had  laid 
to  heart  also.  Not  that  her  father  would  have  approved  of  her 
putting  it  into  practice.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  believe 
emphatically  that  a  woman  should  hold  no  opinion  which  is  not 
of  masculine  origin,  and  the  maxims  "he  had  for  his  boys 
differed  materially  in  many  respects  from  those  which  he  gave 
to  his  girls.  But  these  precepts  of  his  were,  after  all,  only 
matches  to  Evadne  which  fired  whole  trains  of  reflection,  and 
lighted  her  to  conclusions  quite  other  than  those  at  which  he 
had  arrived  himself.  In  this  way,  however,  he  became  her 
principal  instructor.  She  had  attached  herself  to  him  from 
the  time  that  she  could  toddle,  and  had  acquired  from  his  con 
versation  a  proper  appreciation  of  masculine  precision  of 
thought.  If  his  own  statements  were  not  always  accurate  it 
'was  from  no  want  of  respect  for  the  value  of  facts  ;  for  he  was 
great  on  the  subject,  and  often  insisted  that  a  lesson  or 
principle  of  action  is  contained  in  the  commonest  fact  ?  but 
he  snubbed  Evadne  promptly  all  the  same  on  one  occasion 
when  she  mentioned  a  fact  of  life,  and  drew  a  principle  of 
action  therefrom  for  herself.  "  Only  confusion  comes  of 
women  thinking  for  themselves  on  social  subjects/'  he  said. 
"  You  must  let  me  decide  all  such  matters  for  you,  or  you  must 
refer  them  to  your  husband  when  you  come  under  his  control." 

Evadne  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  this,  however,  because 
she  remembered  another  remark  of  his  with  which  she  could 
not  make  it  agree.  The  remark  was  that  women  never  had 
thought  for  themselves,  and  that  therefore  it  was  evident  that 
they  could  not  think,  and  that  they  should  not  try.  Now,  as 
it  is  obvious  that  confusion  cannot  come  of  a  thing  that  has 
never  been  done,  the  inaccuracy  in  one  or  other  of  these  state 
ments  was  glaring  enough  to  put  both  out  of  the  argument. 
But  what  Evadne  did  note  was  the  use  of  the  word  control. 

As  she  grew  up  she  became  her  father's  constant  compalTion 
in  his  walks,  and,  flattered  by  her  close  attention,  he  fell  into 
the  way  of  talking  a  good  deal  to  her.  He  enjoyed  the  fine 
flavour  of  his  own  phrase-making,  and  so  did  she,  but  in  such  a 
silent  way  that  nothing  ever  led  him  to  suspect  it  was  having 
any  but  the  most  desirable  effect  upon  her  mind.  She  never 
attempted  to  argue,  and  only  spoke  in  order  to  ask  a  question 
on  some  point  which  was  not  clear  to  her,  or  to  make  some 


6  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

small  comment  when  he  seemed  to  expect  her  to  do  so.  He 
often  contradicted  himself,  and  the  fact  never  escaped  her 
attention,  but  she  loved  him  with  a  beautiful  confidence,  and 
her  respect  remained  unshaken. 

When  she  had  to  set  herself  right  between  his  discrepancies 
she  did  not  dwelt  on  the  latter  as  faults  in  him,  but  only  thought 
of  how  wise  he  was  when  he  warned  her  to  be  accurate,  and 
felt  grateful.  And  in  this  way  she  formed  her  mind  upon  his 
sayings  ;  and  as  a  direct  result  of  the  long,  informal,  generally 
peripatetic  lectures  to  which  she  listened  without  prejudice,  and 
upon  which  she  brought  unsuspected  powers  of  discrimination 
to  bear,  he  had  unconsciously  made  her  a  more  logical,  reason 
ing,  reasonable  being  than  he  believed  it  possible  for  a  woman 
to  be.  Poor  papa  !  All  that  he  really  knew  of  his  most 
interesting  daughter  was  that  she  was  growing  up  a  good  child, 
physically  strong  and  active,  morally  well  educated,  with  a 
fortunately  equable  temper  ;  and  that  she  owed  a  great  deal 
to  him.  What,  precisely,  was  never  defined.  But  when  the 
thought  of  his  kindness  recurred  to  him  it  always  suffused  him 
with  happiness. 

He  was  a  portly  man,  with  a  place  in  the  country,  and  a 
house  in  town;  not  rich  for  his  position,  but  well  off;  a  magis 
trate,  and  much  respected  ;  well  educated  in  the  ideas  of  the 
ancients,  with  whom  his  own  ideas  on  many  subjects  stopped 
short,  and  hardly  to  be  called  intellectual ;  a  moderate  Church 
man,  a  bigoted  Conservative,  narrow  and  strongly  prejudiced 
rather  than  highly  principled.  He  was  quite  ignorant  of  the 
moral  progress  of  the  world  at  the  present  time,  and  ready  to 
resent  even  the  upward  tendency  of  evolution  when  it  pre 
sented  itself  to  him  in  the  form  of  any  change,  including,  of 
course,  changes  for  the  better,  and  more  especially  so  if  such 
change  threatened  to  bring  about  an  improvement  in  the  posi 
tion  of  women,  or  increase  the  weight  of  their  influence  for 
good  in  the  world.  The  mere  mention  of  the  subject  made 
him  rabid,  and  he  grew  apoplectic  whenever  he  reflected  upon 
the  monstrous  pretensions  of  the  sex  at  the  present  time.  But 
the  thing  that  roused  his  scorn  and  indignation  most  was  when 
a  woman  ventured  to  enter  any  protest  against  the  established 
order  of  iniquity.  He  allowed  that  a  certain  number  of  women 
must  of  necessity  be  abandoned,  and  raised  no  objection  to 
that  ;  but  what  he  did  consider  intolerable  was  that  any  one 
woman  should  make  a  stand  against  the  degradation  of  her 
own  sex,  He  thought  that  immoral. 


THE  HE  A  VRML  Y  TWINS.  7 

He  was  well  enough  to  live  with,  however,  this  obstinate 
English  country  gentleman,  although  without  sympathetic 
insight,  and  liable  to  become  a  petty  domestic  tyrant  at  any 
moment.  "  Sound  "  was  what  he  would  have  called  himself. 
And  he  was  a  man  to  be  envied  upon  the  whole,  for  his  family 
loved  him,  and  his  friends  knew  no  ill  of  him. 


CHAPTER    II. 

T^VADNE,  like  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  was  by  nature  a 
\_j  lover  of  happy  human  faces,  and  she  could  be  playful 
herself  on  occasion ;  but  she  had  little  if  any  of  the  saving 
sense  of  humor. 

Her  habit  was  to  take  everything  au  grand  serieux,  and  to  / 
consider  it.  When  other  people  were  laughing  she  would  be 
gravely  observant,  as  if  she  were  solving  a  problem  ;  and  she 
would  sooner  have  thought  of  trying  to  discover  what  com- 
bination  of  molecules  resulted  in  a  joke,  with  a  view  to  benefit 
ing  her  species  by  teaching  them  how  to  produce  jokes  at  will, 
than  of  trying  to  be  witty  herself.  She  had,  too,  a  quite 
irritating  trick  of  remaining,  to  all  outward  seeming,  stolidly 
unmoved  by  events  which  were  causing  an  otherwise  general 
commotion  ;  but  in  cases  of  danger  or  emergency  she  was 
essentially  swift  to  act — as  on  one  occasion,  for  instance,  when 
the  Hamilton  House  twins  were  at  Fraylingay. 

The  twins  had  arrived  somewhat  late  in  the  married  lives 
of  their  parents,  and  had  been  welcomed  as  angel  visitants, 
under  which  fond  delusion  they  were  christened  respectively 
Angelica  and  Theodore.  Before  they  were  well  out  of  their 
nurse's  arms,  however,  society,  with  discernment,  had  changed 
Theodore's  name  to  Diavolo,  but  "  Angelica  "  was  sanctioned,  .- 
the  irony  being  obvious. 

The  twins  were  alike  in  appearance,  but  not  nearly  so  much 
so  as  twins  usually  are.  It  would  have  been  quite  easy  to  dis 
tinguish  them  apart,  even  if  one  had  not  been  dark  and  the 
other  fair,  and  for  this  mercy  everybody  connected  with  them 
had  reason  to  be  thankful,  for  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  age 
of  active  indiscretion  they  would  certainly  have  got  them 
selves  mixed  if  they  could.  Angelica  was  the  dark  one,  and 
she  was  also  the  elder,  taller,  stronger,  and  wickeder  of  the 
two,  the  organizer  and  commander  of  every  expedition.  Be 
fore  they  were  five  years  old  everybody  about  the  place  was 


3  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

upon  the  alert,  both  in  self-defence  and  also  to  see  that  the 
twins  did  not  kill  themselves.  Bars  of  iron  had  to  be  put  on 
the  upstairs  windows  to  prevent  them  making  ladders  of  the 
traveller's  joy  and  wisteria,  modes  of  egress  which  they  very 
much  preferred  to  commonplace  doors  ;  and  Mr.  Hamilton- 
Wells  had  been  reluctantly  obliged  to  have  the  moat,  which 
was  deep  and  full  of  fish,  and  had  been  the  glory  of  Hamilton 
House  for  generations,  drained  for  fear  of  accidents.  Argu 
ment  was  unavailing  with  the  twins  as  a  means  of  repression, 
but  they  were  always  prepared  to  argue  out  any  question  of 
privilege  with  their  father  and  mother  cheerfully.  Punish 
ment,  too,  had  an  effect  quite  other  than  that  intended.  They 
were  interested  at  the  moment,  but  they  would  slap  each 
other's  hands  and  put  each  other  in  the  corner  for  fun  five 
minutes  after  they  had  received  similar  chastisement  in  solemn 
earnest. 

They  would  have  lived  out  of  doors  altogether  by  choice, 
and  they  managed  to  make  their  escape  in  all  weathers.  If 
the  vigilant  watch  that  was  kept  upon  them  were  relaxed  for 
a  moment,  they  disappeared  as  if  by  magic,  and  would  prob 
ably  only  be  recovered  at  the  farthest  limit  of  their  father's 
property,  or  in  the  kitchen  of  some  neighbouring  country  gentle 
man,  where  they  were  sure  to  be  popular.  They  were  always 
busy  about  something,  and  when  every  usual  occupation 
failed,  they  fought  each  other.  After  a  battle  they  counted 
scars  and  scratches  for  the  honour  of  having  most,  and  if  there 
were  not  bruises  enough  to  satisfy  one  of  them,  the  other  was 
always  obligingly  ready  to  fight  again  until  there  were. 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  had  great  faith  in  the  discipline  of  the 
Church  service  for  them,  and  was  anxious  that  they  should 
be  early  accustomed  to  go  there.  They  behaved  pretty  well 
while  the  solemnity  was  strange  enough  to  awe  them,  and  one 
Sunday  when  Lady  Adeline — their  mother — could  not  accom 
pany  him,  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  ventured  to  go  alone  with 
them.  He  took  the  precaution  to  place  them  on  either  side 
of  him  so  as  to  separate  them  and  interpose  a  solid  body 
between  them  and  any  signals  they  might  make  to  each  other  ; 
but  in  the  quietest  part  of  the  service,  when  everybody  was 
kneeling,  some  movement  of  Diavolo's  attracted  his  attention 
for  a  moment  from  Angelica,  and  when  he  looked  again  the 
latter  had  disappeared.  She  had  discovered  that  it  was  pos 
sible  to  creep  from  pew  to  pew  beneath  the  seats,  and  had 
started  to  explore  the  church.  Qn  her  way,  however,  she 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  9 

observed  a  pair  of  stout  legs  belonging  to  a  respectable  elderly 
woman  who  was  too  deep  in  her  devotion  to  be  aware  of  the 
intruder,  and,  being  somewhat  astonished  by  their  size,  she 
proceeded  to  test  their  quality  with  a  pin,  the  consequence 
being  an  appalling  shriek  from  the  woman,  which  started  a 
shrill  treble  cry  from  herself.  The  service  was  suspended, 
and  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells,  the  most  precise  of  men,  hastened 
down  the  aisle,  and  fished  his  daughter  out,  an  awful  spectacle 
of  dust,  from  under  the  seat,  incontinently. 

When  Mr.  and  Lady  Adeline  Hamilton-Wells  went  from 
home  for  any  length  of  time  they  were  obliged  to  take  their 
children  with  them,  as  servants  who  knew  the  latter  would 
rather  leave  than  be  left  in  charge  of  them,  and  this  was  how  it 
happened  that  Evadne  made  their  acquaintance  at  an  early  age. 

It  was  during  their  first  visit  to  Fraylingay,  while  they  were 
still  quite  tiny,  and  she  was  hardly  in  her  teens,  that  the  event 
referred  to  in  illustration  of  one  of  Evadne's  characteristics 
occurred. 

The  twins  had  arrived  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  were  taken 
into  the  dining  room,  where  the  table  was  already  decorated 
for  dinner.  It  evidently  attracted  a  good  deal  of  their  atten 
tion,  but  they  said  nothing.  At  dessert,  however,  to  which 
Evadne  had  come  down  with  the  elder  children,  the  dining 
room  door  was  seen  to  open  with  portentous  slowness,  and 
there  appeared  in  the  aperture  two  little  figures  in  Irng  night 
gowns,  their  forefingers  in  their  mouths,  their  inquisitive  noses 
tilted  in  the  air,  and  their  bright  eyes  round  with  astonish 
ment.  It  was  like  the  middle  of  the  night  to  them,  and  they 
had  expected  to  find  the  room  empty. 

"  Oh,  you  naughty  children  ! "  Lady  Adeline  exclaimed. 

"  The  darlings !  "  cried  Mrs.  Frayling,  Evadne's  mother. 
"Do  let  them  come  in,"  and  she  picked  up  Angelica,  and  held 
her  on  her  knee,  one  of  the  other  ladies  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  long  table  taking  Diavolo  up  at  the  same  time.  But  the 
moment  the  children  found  themselves  on  a  level  with  the 
table  they  made  a  dart  for  the  centre  piece  simultaneously  on 
their  hands  and  knees,  regardless  of  the  smash  of  dessert 
plates,  decanters,  wineglasses,  and  fruit  dishes,  which  they 
upset  by  the  way. 

"  It  is  !  "  shrieked  Angelica,  thumping  the  flat  mirror  which 
was  part  of  the  table  decorations  triumphantly. 

"It  is  what?"  cried  Lady  Adeline,  endeavoring  to  reach 
the  child. 


10  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  TWINS. 

"  It's  looking-glass,  mamma.     Diavolo  said  it  was  water.'* 

There  was  much  amusement  at  the  words,  and  at  the  quaint 
spectacle  of  the  two  little  creatures  sitting  amid  the  wreckage 
in  the  middle  of  the  table  not  a  bit  abashed  by  the  novelty  of 
their  conspicuous  position.  Only  Evadne,  who  was  standing 
behind  her  mother's  chair,  remained  grave.  She  seemed  to 
be  considering  the  situation  severely,  and,  acting  on  her  own 
responsibility,  she  picked  Diavolo  up  in  the  midst  of  the  gen 
eral  hilarity,  and  carried  him  out  of  the  room  with  her  hand 
pressed  tight  on  his  thigh.  The  child  had  come  down  armed 
with  an  open  penknife,  with  which  to  defend  Angelica  should 
they  encounter  any  ogres  or  giants  on  the  stairs,  and  in  scram 
bling  up  the  table  he  had  managed  to  strike  himself  in  the 
thigh  with  it,  and  had  severed  the  femoral  artery  ;  but,  with 
the  curious  shame  which  makes  some  children  dislike  to  own 
that  they  are  hurt,  he  had  contrived  to  conceal  the  accident 
for  a  moment  with  his  nightgown  under  cover  of  the  flowers, 
and  it  was  only  Evadne's  observant  eye  and  presence  of  mind 
that  had  saved  his  life.  No  one  in  the  house  could  make  a 
tourniquet,  and  she  sat  with  the  child  on  her  knee  while  a  doc 
tor  was  being  fetched,  keeping  him  quiet  as  by  a  miracle,  and 
stopping  the  hemorrhage  with  the  pressure  of  her  thumb,  not 
even  his  parents  daring  to  relieve  her,  since  Diavolo  had  never 
been  known  to  be  still  so  long  in  his  life  with  anybody  else. 
She  held  him  till  the  operation  of  tying  the  artery  was  safely 
accomplished,  by  which  time  Mr.  Diavolo  was  sufficiently 
exhausted  to  be  good  and  go  to  sleep ;  and  then  she  quietly 
fainted.  But  she  was  about  again  in  time  to  catch  him  when 
he  woke,  and  keep  him  quiet,  and  so  by  unwearied  watching 
she  prevented  accidents  until  all  danger  was  over. 

Diavolo  afterward  heard  his  parents  praise  her  in  unmeas 
ured  terms  to  her  parents  one  day  in  her  absence.  She  hap 
pened  to  return  while  they  were  still  in  the  room,  and,  being 
doubtless  wide  awake  to  the  advantages  of  such  a  connection, 
he  took  the  opportunity  of  promising  solemnly,  in  the  presence 
of  such  respectable  witnesses,  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  he  was 
able. 

She  had  added  the  word  "  tourniquet "  to  her  vocabulary 
during  this  time,  and  having  looked  it  up  in  the  dictionary, 
she  requested  the  doctor  to  be  so  good  as  to  teach  her  to 
make  one.  While  doing  so  the  doctor  became  interested  in 
his  silent,  intelligent  pupil,  and  it  ended  in  his  teaching  her 
all  that  a  young  lady  could  learn  of  bandaging,  of  antidotes 


THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  TWINS.  1 1 

to  poisons,  of  what  to.  do  in  case  of  many  possible  accidents, 
and  also  of  nursing,  theoretically. 

But  this  was  not  a  solitary  instance  of  the  quiet  power  of 
the  girl  which  already  compelled  even  elderly  gentlemen  much 
overworked  and  self-absorbed,  to  sacrifice  themselves  in  her 
service. 

CHAPTER  III. 

IT  is  a  notable  thing  that  in  almost  every  instance  it  was 
her  father's  influence  which  forced  Evadne  to  draw  con 
clusions  in  regard  to  life  quite  unlike  any  of  his  own,  and  very 
distasteful  to  him.  He  was  the  most  conservative  of  men, 
and  yet  he  was  continually  setting  her  mind  off  at  a  tangent 
in  search  of  premises  upon  which  to  found  ultra-liberal  con 
clusions. 

His  primitive  theories  about  women  and  "  all  that  they  are 
good  for,"  for  one  thing,  which  differed  so  materially  from  the 
facts  as  she  observed  them  every  day,  formed  a  constant 
mental  stimulus  to  which  her  busy  brain  was  greatly  indebted. 
"  Women  should  confine  their  attention  to  housekeeping,"  he 
remarked  once  when  the  talk  about  the  higher  education  of 
women  first  began  to  irritate  elderly  gentlemen.  "  It  is  all 
they  are  fit  for." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  Evadne. 

"  Yes.  And  they  don't  know  arithmetic  enough  to  do  that 
properly." 

"  Don't  they  ?  why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  they  have  no  brains,"  he  answered. 

"  But  some  women  have  been  clever,"  she  ventured  seriously. 

"  Yes,  of  course  ;  exceptional  women.  But  you  can't  argue 
from  exceptional  women." 

"  Then  ordinary  women  have  no  brains,  and  cannot  learn 
arithmetic  ?  "  she  concluded. 

"  Precisely,"  he  answered  irritably.  Such  signs  of  intelli 
gence  always  did  irritate  him,  somehow. 

Evadne  found  food  for  reflection  in  these  remarks.  She 
had  done  a  certain  amount  of  arithmetic  herself  in  the  school 
room,  and  had  never  found  it  difficult,  but  then  she  had  not 
gone  far  enough,  perhaps.  And  she  went  at  once  to  get  a 
Colenso  or  a  Barnard  Smith  to  see.  She  found  them  more 
fascinating  when  she  attacked  them  of  her  own  free  will  and 
with  all  her  intelligence  than  she  had  done  when  necessity,  in 


1 2  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  TWINS. 

the  shape  of  her  governess,  forced  her  to  pay  them  some 
attention,  and  she  went  through  them  both  in  a  few  weeks  at 
odd  times,  and  then  asked  her  father's  advice  about  a  book 
on  advanced  mathematics. 

"  Advanced  mathematics  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Can  you  keep 
accounts  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  doubtfully. 

"  Then  what  is  this  nonsense  about  advanced  mathe 
matics  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  have  finished  Barnard  Smith,  and  I  thought  I  should 
like  to  go  on,"  she  explained. 

"  Now,  isn't  that  like  your  sex  ?  "  he  observed,  smiling  at  his 
own  superiority.  "  You  pick  things  up  with  a  parrot-like 
sharpness,  but  haven't  intelligence  enough  to  make  any  practi 
cal  application  of  them.  A  woman  closely  resembles  a  parrot 
in  her  mental  processes,  and  in  the  use  she  makes  of  fine 
phrases  which  she  does  not  understand  to  produce  an  effect  of 
cleverness — such  as  *  advanced  mathematics  ! '  " 

Evadne  bent  her  brow,  and  let  him  ruminate  a  little  in 
infinite  self-content,  then  asked  abruptly  :  "  Can  men  keep 
accounts  who  have  never  seen  accounts  kept  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  he  answered,  seeing  in  this  a  new 
instance  of  feminine  imbecility,  and  laughing. 

"  Ah,"  she  observed,  then  added  thoughtfully  as  she  moved 
away  :  "  I  should  like  to  see  how  accounts  are  kept." 

She  never  had  any  more  conversation  with  her  father  upon 
this  subject,  but  from  that  time  forward  mathematics,  which 
had  before  been  only  an  incident  in  the  way  of  lessons,  became 
an  interest  in  life,  and  a  solid  part  of  her  education.  But, 
although  she  found  she  could  do  arithmetic  without  any  great 
difficulty,  it  never  occurred  to  her  either  that  her  father  could 
be  wrong  or  that  there  might  be  in  herself  the  making  of  an 
exceptional  woman.  The  habit  of  love  and  respect  kept  her 
attention  from  any  point  which  would  have  led  to  a  judgment 
upon  her  father,  and  she  was  too  unconscious  of  herself  as  a 
separate  unit  to  make  personal  application  of  anything  as  yet. 
Her  mind  at  this  time,  like  the  hold  of  a  ship  with  a  general 
cargo,  was  merely  being  stored  with  the  raw  materials  which 
were  to  be  distributed  over  her  whole  life,  and  turned  by  degrees 
to  many  purposes,  useful,  beautiful — not  impossibly  detestable. 

But  that  remark  of  her  father's  about  "  all  that  women  are 
fit  for,"  which  he  kept  well  watered  from  time  to  time  with 
other  conventional  expressions  of  a  contemptuous  kind,  was 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  13 

undoubtedly  the  seed  of  much  more  than  a  knowledge  of  the 
higher  mathematics.  It  was  that  which  set  her  mind  off  on 
a  long  and  patient  inquiry  into  the  condition  and  capacity  of 
women,  and  made  her,  in  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
essentially  herself.  But  she  did  not  begin  her  inquiry  of  set 
purpose  ;  she  was  not  even  conscious  of  the  particular  atten 
tion  she  paid  to  the  subject.  She  had  no  foregone  conclusion 
to  arrive  at,  no  wish  to  find  evidence  in  favour  of  the  woman 
which  would  prove  the  man  wrong.  Only,  coming  across  so 
many  sneers  at  the  incapacity  of  women,  she  fell  insensibly 
into  the  habit  of  asking  why.  The  question  to  begin  with  was 
always:  "Why  are  women  such  inferior  beings?"  But,  by 
degrees,  as  her  reading  extended,  it  changed  its  form,  and  then 
she  asked  herself  doubtfully  :  "  Are  women  such  inferior 
beings  ?  "  a  position  which  carried  her  in  front  of  her  father  at 
once  by  a  hundred  years,  and  led  her  rapidly  on  to  the  final  con 
clusion  that  women  had  originally  no  congenital  defect  of 
inferiority,  and  that,  although  they  have  still  much  way  to  make 
up,  it  now  rests  with  themselves  to  be  inferior  or  not,  as  they 
choose. 

She  had  an  industrious  habit  of  writing  what  she  thought 
about  the  works  she  studied,  and  there  is  an  interesting  record 
still  in  existence  of  her  course  of  reading  between  the  ages  of 
twelve  and  nineteen.  It  consists  of  one  thick  volume,  on  the 
title  page  of  which  she  had  written  roundly,  but  without  a 
flourish,  "  Commonplace  Book,"  and  the  date.  The  first 
entries  are  made  in  a  careful,  unformed,  childish  hand,  and 
with  diffidence  evidently ;  but  they  became  rapidly  decided 
both  in  caligraphy  and  tone  as  she  advanced.  The  handwrit 
ing  is  small  and  cramped,  but  the  latter  probably  with  a  view 
to  economy  of  space,  and  it  is  always  clear  and  neat.  There 
are  few  erasures  or  mistakes  of  grammar  or  spelling,  even 
from  the  first,  and  little  tautology  ;  but  she  makes  no  attempt 
at  literary  style  or  elegance  of  expression.  Still,  all  that  she 
says  is  impressive,  and  probably  on  that  account.  She  chooses 
the  words  best  calculated  to  express  her  meaning  clearly  and 
concisely,  and  undoubtedly  her  meaning  is  always  either  a 
settled  conviction  or  an  honest  endeavour  to  arrive  at  one.  It 
is  the  honesty,  in  fact,  that  is  so  impressive.  She  never  thinks 
of  trying  to  shine  in  the  composition  of  words  ;  there  was  no 
idea  of  budding  authorship  in  her  mind  ;  she  had  no  more 
consciousness  of  purpose  in  her  writing  than  she  had  in  her 
singing,  when  she  sang  about  the  place.  The  one  was  as 


14  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

involuntary  as  the  other,  and  the  outcome  of  similar  sensa- 
tions.  It  pleased  her  to  write,  and  it  pleased  her  to  sing,  and 
she  did  both  when  the  impulse  came  upon  her.  She  must, 
however,  have  had  considerable  natural  facility  of  expression. 
Writing  seems  always  to  have  been  her  best  mode  of  commu 
nication.  She  was  shy  from  the  first  in  conversation,  but  bold 
to  a  fault  with  her  pen.  Some  of  the  criticisms  she  wrote  in 
her  "  Commonplace  Book  "  are  quite  exhaustive  ;  most  of 
them  are  temperate,  although  she  does  give  way  occasionally 
to  bursts  of  fiery  indignation  at  things  which  outrage  her  sense 
of  justice  ;  but  the  general  characteristic  is  a  marked  original 
ity,  not  only  in  her  point  of  view,  but  also  in  the  use  she  makes 
of  quite  unpromising  materials.  In  fact,  the  most  notable 
part  of  the  record  is  the  proof  it  contains  that  all  the  argu 
ments  upon  which  she  formed  her  opinions  were  found  in  the 
enemy's  works  alone.  She  had  drawn  her  own  conclusions  ; 
but  after  having  done  so,  as  it  happened,  she  had  the  satisfac 
tion  of  finding  confirmation  strong  in  John  Stuart  Mill  on 
"  The  Subjection  of  Women,"  which  she  came  across  by  acci 
dent — an  accident,  by  the  way,  for  which  Lady  Adeline  Ham- 
ilton-WTells  was  responsible.  She  brought  the  book  to  Fray- 
lingay,  and  forgot  it  when  she  went  home,  and  Evadne, 
happening  to  find  it  throwing  about,  took  charge  of  it,  read  it 
with  avidity,  and  found  for  herself  a  world  of  thought  in  which 
she  could  breathe  freely. 

"  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  "  was  one  of  her  early  favourites. 
She  read  it  several  times,  and  makes  mention  of  it  twice  in  her 
"Commonplace  Book."  Her  first  notice  of  it  is  a  child 
ish  little  synopsis,  very  quaint  in  its  unconscious  irony ;  but 
interesting,  principally  from  the  fact  that  she  was  struck 
even  then  by  the  point  upon  which  she  afterward  became  so 
strong. 

"  The  vicar,"  she  says,  "  was  a  good  man,  and  very  fond  of 
his  wife  and  family,  and  they  were  very  fond  of  him,  but  his 
wife  was  queer,  and  could  only  read  a  little.  And  he  never 
taught  her  to  improve  herself,  although  he  had  books  and  was 
learned.*  He  had  two  daughters,  who  were  spiteful  and  did 
not  like  other  girls  to  be  pretty.  They  had  bad  taste,  too,  and 
wanted  to  go  to  church  overdressed,  and  thought  it  finer  to 
ride  a  plough-horse  than  walk.  It  does  not  say  that  they  ever 
read  anything,  either.  If  they  had  they  would  have  known 

*  This  is  the  point  alluded  to. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  15 

better.  There  is  a  very  nasty  man  in  the  book  called  Squire 
Thornhill,  and  a  nice  one  called  Sir  William  Thornhill,  who 
was  his  uncle.  Sir  William  marries  Sophia,  and  Squire  Thorn- 
hill  marries  Olivia,  although  he  does  not  intend  to.  Olivia 
was  a  horrid  deceitful  girl,  and  it  served  her  right  to  get  such 
a  husband.  They  have  a  brother  called  Moses,  who  used  to 
talk  philosophy  with  his  father  at  dinner,  and  once  sold  a  cow 
for  a  gross  of  green  spectacles.  A  gross  is  twelve  dozen.  Of 
course  they  were  all  annoyed,  but  the  vicar  himself  was 
cheated  by  the  same  man  when  he  went  to  sell  the  horse.  He 
seemed  to  think  a  great  deal  of  knowing  Latin  and  Greek,  but 
it  was  not  much  use  to  him  then.  It  was  funny  that  he  should 
be  conceited  about  what  he  knew  himself,  and  not  want  his 
wife  to  know  anything.  He  said  to  her  once  :  '  I  never  dis 
pute  your  abilities  to  make  a  goose  pie,  and  I  beg  you'll  leaye 
argument  to  me '  ;  which  she  might  have  thought  rude,  but 
perhaps  she  was  not  a  lady,  as  ladies  do  not  make  goose  pies. 
I  forgot,  though,  they  had  lost  all  their  money.  They  had 
great  troubles,  and  the  vicar  was  put  in  prison.  He  was  very 
ill,  but  preached  to  the  prisoners,  and  everybody  loved  him. 
I  like  '  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  '  very  much,  and  if  I  cannot 
find  another  book  as  nice  I  shall  read  it  again.  *  Turn,  Gen 
tle  Hermit '  is  silly.  I  suppose  Punch  took  Edwin  and 
Angelina  out  of  it  to  laugh  at  them." 

Quite  three  years  must  have  elapsed  before  she  again 
mentions  "The  Vicar  of  Wakefield, "and  in  the  meantime  she 
had  been  reading  a  fair  variety  of  books,  but  for  the  most  part 
under  schoolroom  supervision,  carefully  selected  for  her. 
Some,  however,  she  had  chosen  for  herself — during  the  holi 
days  when  discipline  was  relaxed  ;  but  it  was  a  fault  which 
she  had  to  confess,  and  she  does  so  always,  honestly.  Lewes' 
"  Life  of  Goethe  "  was  one  of  these.  She  wrote  a  glowing 
description  of  it,  at  the  end  of  which  she  says  : 

"I  found  the  book  on  a  sofa  in  the  drawing  room,  and 
began  it  without  thinking,  and  read  and  read  until  I  had 
nearly  finished  it,  quite  forgetting  to  ask  leave.  But  of 
course  I  went  at  once  to  tell  father  as  soon  as  I  thought  of  it. 
Mother  was  there  too,  and  inclined  to  scold,  but  father  frowned, 
and  said  :  *  Let  her  alone.  It  will  do  her  no  harm  ;  she  won't 
understand  it.'  I  asked  if  I  might  finish  it,  and  he  said,  'Oh, 
yes,'  impatiently.  I  think  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  I 
am  sorry  I  interrupted  him  at  an  inconvenient  time.  Mother 
often  does  not  agree  with  father,  but  she  always  gives  in. 


1 6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Very  often  she  is  right,  however,  and  he  is  wrong.  Last  week 
she  did  not  want  us  to  go  out  one  day  because  she  was  sure  it 
would  rain,  but  he  did  not  think  so,  and  said  we  had  better  go 
It  did  rain — poured — arid  we  got  wet  through  and  have  had 
colds  ever  since,  but  when  we  came  in  mother  scolded  me  for 
saying,  '  You  see,  you  were  right.'  She  said  I  should  be 
saying  '  I  told  you  so  !  '  next,  in  a  nasty  jeering  way  as  the 
boys  do,  which  really  means  rejoicing  because  somebody  else 
is  wrong,  and  is  not  generous.  I  hope  I  shall  never  come  to 
that ;  but  I  know  if  I  am  ever  sure  of  a  thing  being  right 
which  somebody  else  thinks  is  wrong,  it  won't  matter  what  it 
is  or  who  it  is,  I  shall  not  give  in.  I  don't  see  how  I  could." 

Her  pen  seldom  ran  away  with  her  into  personal  matters 
like  these,  in  the  early  part  of  the  book  ;  but  from  the  first 
she  was  apt  to  be  beguiled  occasionally  by  the  pleasure  of 
perceiving  a  powerful  stimulant  under  the  influence  of  which 
everything  is  lost  sight  of  but  the  point  perceived.  She  had 
never  to  fight  a  daily  and  exhausting  battle  for  her  private 
opinions  as  talkative  people  have,  simply  because  she  rarely 
if  ever  expressed  an  opinion  ;  but  her  father  stood  ready 
always,  a  post  of  resistance  to  innovation,  upon  which  she 
could  sharpen  the  claws  of  her  conclusion  silently  whenever 
they  required  it. 

When  next  she  mentions  "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  she 
says  expressly  : 

"  I  do  not  remember  what  I  wrote  about  it  the  first  time  I 
read  it,  and  I  will  not  look  to  see  until  I  have  written  what  I 
think  now,  because  I  should  like  to  know  if  I  still  agree  with 
myself  as  I  was  then." 

And  it  is  interesting  to  note  how  very  much  she  does  agree 
with  herself  as  she  "  was  then  "  ;  the  feeling,  in  fact,  is  the 
same,  but  it  has  passed  from  her  heart  to  her  head,  and  been 
resolved  by  the  process  into  positive  opinion,  held  with  con 
scious  knowledge,  and  delivered  with  greatly  improved  power 
of  expression. 

" '  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  '  makes  me  think  a  good  deal,"  she 
continues,  "  but  there  is  no  order  in  my  thoughts.  There  is, 
however,  one  thing  in  the  book  that  strikes  me  first  and  fore 
most  and  above  all  others,  which  is  that  the  men  were  educated 
and  the  women  were  ignorant.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
the  women  preferred  to  be  ignorant,  and  therefore  I  presume 
they  were  not  allowed  the  educational  advantages  upon  which 
the  men  prided  themselves.  The  men  must  accordingly  have 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  17 

withheld  these  advantages  by  main  force,  yet  they  do  not 
scorn  to  sneer  at  the  consequences  of  their  injustice.  There 
is  a  sneer  implied  in  the  vicar's  remark  about  his  own  wife  : 
4  She  could  read  any  English  book  without  much  spelling.' 
That  her  ignorance  was  not  the  consequence  of  incapacity  is 
proved  by  the  evidence  which  follows  of  her  intelligence  in 
other  matters.  Had  Mrs.  Primrose  been  educated  she  might 
have  continued  less  lovable  than  the  vicar,  but  she  would 
probably  have  been  wiser.  The  vicar  must  always  have  been 
conscious  of  her  defects,  but  had  never  apparently  thought  of 
a  remedy,  nor  does  he  dream  of  preventing  a  repetition  of  the 
same  defects  in  his  daughters  by  providing  them  with  a  better 
education.  He  takes  their  unteachableness  for  granted, 
remarking  complacently  that  an  hour  of  recreation  «  was  taken 
up  in  innocent  mirth  between  my  wife  and  daughters,  and  in 
philosophical  arguments  between  my  son  and  me,'  as  if  '  inno 
cent  mirth '  were  as  much  as  he  could  reasonably  expect  from 
such  inferior  beings  as  a  wife  and  daughters  must  necessarily 
be.  The  average  school  girl  of  to-day  is  a  child  of  light  on 
the  subject  of  her  own  sex  compared  with  the  gentle  vicar, 
and  incapable,  even  before  her  education  is  half  over,  of  the 
envy  and  meanness  which  the  latter  thinks  it  kindest  to  take 
a  humourous  view  of,  and  of  the  disingenuousness  at  which  he 
also  smiles  as  the  inevitable  outcome  of  feminine  inferiority — 
at  least  /  never  met  a  girl  in  my  position  who  would  not  have 
admired  Miss  Wilmot's  beauty,  nor  do  I  know  one  who  would 
not  answer  her  father  frankly,  however  embarrassing  the 
question  might  be,  if  he  asked  her  opinion  of  a  possible  lover." 

The  next  entry  in  the  book  is  on  the  subject  of  "  Mrs. 
Caudle's  Curtain  Lectures,"  and,  like  most  of  the  others,  it 
merits  attention  from  the  unexpected  view  she  takes  of  the 
position.  It  does  not  strike  her  as  being  humourous,  but 
pathetic.  She  feels  the  misery  of  it,  and  she  had  already  begun 
to  hold  that  human  misery  is  either  a  thing  to  be  remedied  or 
a  sacred  subject  to  be  dwelt  on  in  silence ;  and  she  considers 
Mrs.  Caudle  entirely  with  a  view  to  finding  a  cure  for  her 
case. 

"  The  Caudles  were  petty  tradespeople,"  she  says,  "  respect 
able  in  their  own  position,  but  hardly  lovable  according  to 
our  ideas.  Mr.  Caudle,  with  meek  persistency,  goes  out  to 
amuse  himself  alone  when  his  day's  work  is  done.  Mrs. 
Caudle's  day's  work  never  is  done.  She  has  the  wearing 
charge  of  a  large  family,  and  the  anxiety  of  making  both  ends 


18  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

meet  on  a  paltry  income,  which  entails  much  self  denial  and 
sordid  parsimony,  but  is  conscientiously  done,  if  not  cheer 
fully,  nevertheless.  It  is  Mr.  Caudle,  however,  who  grum 
bles,  making  no  allowance  for  extra  pressure  of  work  on 
washing  days,  when  she  is  too  busy  to  hash  the  cold  mutton. 
The  rule  of  her  life  is  weariness  and  worry  from  morning  till 
night,  and  for  relaxation  in  the  evening  she  must  sit  down  and 
mend  the  children's  clothes  ;  and  even  when  that  is  done  she 
goes  to  bed  with  the  certainty  of  being  roused  from  her  hard- 
earned  rest  by  a  husband  who  brings  a  sickening  odour  of  bad 
tobacco  and  spirits  home  with  him,  and  naturally  her  temper 
suffers.  She  knows  nothing  of  love  and  sympathy  ;  she  has 
no  pleasurable  interest  in  life.  Fatigue  and  worry  are  suc 
ceeded  by  profound  disheartenment.  One  can  imagine  that 
while  she  was  young,  the  worn  garments  she  was  wont  to 
mend  during  those  long  lonely  evenings  were  often  wet  with 
tears.  The  dulness  must  have  been  deadly,  and  dulness 
added  to  fatigue  time  after  time  ended  at  last  not  in  tears, but 
in  peevish  irritation,  ebullitions  of  spleen,  and  ineffectual  resist 
ance  The  woman  was  thoroughly  embittered,  and  the  man 
had  to  pay  the  penalty.  Whatever  pleasure  there  might  have 
been  in  their  joint  lives  he  had  secured  for  himself,  leaving 
her  to  stagnate  for  want  of  a  little  variety  to  keep  her  feelings 
flowing  wholesomely ;  and  she  did  stagnate  dutifully,  but  she 
was  to  blame  for  it.  Had  she  gone  out  and  amused  herself 
with  other  wives  similarly  situated,  and  had  tobacco  and  beer, 
if  she  liked  them,  every  evening,  it  would  have  been  better  for 
herself  and  her  husband." 

There  must  have  been  some  system  in  Evadne's  reading, 
for  "The  Naggletons"  came  immediately  after  "Mrs.  Cau 
dle,"  and  are  dismissed  curtly  enough  : 

"Vulgar,  ill-bred,  lower  class  people,"  she  calls  them. 
"  Objectionable  to  contemplate  from  every  point  of  view. 
But  a  book  which  should  enlighten  the  class  whom  it  describes 
on  the  subject  of  their  own  bad  manners.  We  don't  nag." 

She  owed  her  acquaintance  with  the  next  two  books  she 
mentions  to  the  indirect  instigation  of  her  father,  and  she 
must  have  read  them  when  she  was  about  eighteen,  and 
emancipated  from  schoolroom  supervision,  but  not  yet  fairly 
entered  upon  the  next  chapter  of  her  existence  ;  for  they  are 
among  the  last  she  notices  before  she  came  out. 

The  date  is  fixed  by  an  entry  which  appears  on  a  subse 
quent  page  with  the  note  :  "  I  was  presented  at  court  to-day 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  1 9 

by  my  mother."  After  this  entry  life  becomes  more  interest 
ing  than  literature,  evidently,  for  the  book  ceases  to  be  a 
record  of  reading  and  thought  with  an  occasional  note  on 
people  and  circumstances,  and  becomes  just  the  opposite,  viz., 
a  diary  of  events  interspersed  with  sketches  of  character  and 
only  a  rare  allusion  to  literature.  But,  judging  by  the  num 
ber  and  variety  and  the  careful  record  kept  of  the  works  she 
read,  the  six  months  or  so  immediately  preceding  her  presen 
tation  must  have  been  a  time  of  the  greatest  intellectual 
activity,  her  father's  influence  being,  as  usual,  often  apparent 
as  primary  instigator.  Once,  when  they  were  having  coffee 
out  on  the  lawn  after  dinner,  he  began  a  discussion  in  her 
hearing  about  books  with  another  gentleman  who  was  staying 
in  the  house,  and  in  the  course  of  it  he  happened  to  praise 
"  Roderick  Random  "  and  "  Tom  Jones  "  eloquently.  He 
said  they  were  superior  in  their  own  line  to  anything  which 
the  present  day  has  produced.  "  They  are  true  to  life  in 
every  particular,"  he  maintained,  "  and  not  only  to  the  life  of 
those  times,  but  of  all  time.  In  fact,  you  feel  as  you  read 
that  it  is  not  fiction,  but  human  nature  itself  that  yon  are 
studying  ;  and  there  is  an  education  in  moral  philosophy  on 
every  page." 

Evadne.was  much  impressed,  and  being  anxious  to  know 
what  an  education  in  moral  philosophy  might  be,  she  got 
"  Roderick  Random  "  and  "  Tom  Jones  "  out  of  the  library 
when  she  went  in  that  evening,  and  took  them  to  her  own 
room  to  study.  They  were  the  two  books  already  referred  to 
as  being  among  the  last  she  read  just  before  she  came  out. 
They  did  not  please  her,  but  she  waded  through  them  from 
beginning  to  end  conscientiously,  nevertheless,  and  then  she 
made  her  remarks. 

Of  "  Roderick  Random"  she  wrote  : 

"  The  hero  is  a  kind  of  king-can-do-no-wrong  young  man  ; 
if  a  thing  were  not  right  in  itself  he  acted  as  if  the  pleasure 
of  doing  it  sanctified  it  to  his  use  sufficiently.  After  a  career 
of  vice,  in  which  he  revels  without  any  sense  of  personal  deg 
radation,  he  marries  an  amiable  girl  named  Narcissa,  and 
everyone  seems  to  expect  that  such  a  union  of  vice  and  virtue 
would  be  productive  of  the  happiest  consequences.  In  point 
of  fact  he  should  have  married  Miss  Williams,  for  whom  he 
was  in  every  respect  a  suitable  mate.  If  anything,  Miss  Wil 
liams  was  the  better  of  the  two,  for  Roderick  sinned  in  weak 
wantonness,  while  she  only  did  so  of  necessity.  They  repent 


20  TffE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

together,  but  she  is  married  to  an  unsavoury  manservant 
named  Strap  as  a  reward  ;  while  Roderick  considers  himself 
entitled  to  the  peerless  Narcissa.  Miss  Williams,  moreover, 
becomes  Narcissa's  confidential  friend,  and  the  whole  dis 
graceful  arrangement  is  made  possible  by  Narcissa  herself, 
who  calmly  accepts  these  two  precious  associates  at  their  own 
valuation,  and  admits  them  to  the  closest  intimacy  without  any 
knowledge  of  their  true  characters  and  early  lives.  The  fine 
flavour  of  real  life  in  the  book  seems  to  me  to  be  of  the  putrid 
kind  which  some  palates  relish,  perhaps  ;  but  it  cannot  be 
wholesome,  and  it  may  be  poisonous.  The  moral  is  :  Be  as 
vicious  as  you  please,  but  prate  of  virtue." 

"  Tom  Jones "  she  dismissed  with  greater  contempt,  if 
possible  : 

"Another  young  man,"  she  wrote,  "steeped  in  vice, 
although  acquainted  with  virtue.  He  also  marries  a  spotless 
heroine.  Such  men  marrying  are  a  danger  to  the  community 
at  large.  The  two  books  taken  together  show  well  the  self- 
interest  and  injustice  of  men,  the  fatal  ignorance  and  slavish 
apathy  of  women  ;  and  it  may  be  good  to  know  these  things, 
but  it  is  not  agreeable." 

The  ventilation  of  free  discussion  would  doubtless  have 
been  an  advantage  to  Evaclne  at  this  impressionable  period, 
when  she  was  still,  as  it  were,  more  an  intellectual  than  a 
human  being,  travelling  upon  her  head  rather  than  upon  her 
heart — so  to  speak — and  one  cannot  help  speculating  about 
the  probable  modification  it  would  have  wrought  in  some  of 
her  opinions.  Unfortunately,  however,  her  family  was  one  of 
those  in  which  the  doture  is  rigorously  applied  when  any 
attempt  is  made  to  introduce  ideas  which  are  not  already  old 
and  accustomed.  It  was  as  if  her  people  were  satisfied  that 
by  enforcing  silence  they  could  prevent  thought. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IT  is  interesting  to  trace  the  steps  by  which  Evadne 
advanced  :  one  item  of  knowledge  accidentally  acquired 
compelling  her  to  seek  another,  as  in  the  case  of  some  disease 
mentioned  in  a  story-book,  the  nature  of  which  she  could  not 
comprehend  without  studying  the  construction  of  the  organ  it 
affected.  But  haphazard  seems  to  have  determined  her  pur 
suits  much  more  than  design  as  a  rule.  Some  people  in  after 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS.  21 

life,  who  liked  her  views,  said  they  saw  the  guiding-  hand  of 
Providence  directing  her  course  from  the  first  ;  but  those  who 
opposed  her  said  it  was  the  devil  ;  and  others  again,  in  idle 
ness  or  charity,  or  the  calm  neutrality  of  indifference,  set  it  all 
down  to  the  Inevitable,  a  fashionable  first  cause  at  this  time, 
which  is  both  comprehensive,  convenient,  and  inoffensive, 
since  it  may  mean  anything,  and  so  suits  itself  to  everybody's 
prejudices. 

But  she  certainly  made  her  first  acquaintance  with  anatomy 
and  physiology  without  design  of  her  own.  Her  mother  sent 
her  up  to  a  lumber  room  one  day  to  hunt  through  an  old  box 
of  books  for  a  story  she  wanted  her  to  read  to  the  children, 
and  the  box  happened  to  contain  some  medical  works,  which 
Evadne  peeped  into  during  her  search.  A  plate  first  attracted 
her  attention,  and  then  she  read  a  little  to  see  what  the  plate 
meant,  and  then  she  read  a  little  more  because  the  subject 
fascinated  her,  and  the  lucid  language  of  a  great  scientific 
man,  certain  of  his  facts,  satisfied  her,  and  carried  her  on  in 
sensibly.  She  continued  standing  until  one  leg  tired,  then  she 
rested  on  the  other  ;  then  she  sat  on  the  hard  edge  of  the  box, 
and  finally  she  subsided  on  to  the  floor,  in  the  dust,  where  she 
was  found  hours  later,  still  reading. 

"  My  dear  child,  where  have  you  been?"  her  mother 
exclaimed  irritably,  when  at  last  she  appeared.  "  I  sent  you 
to  get  a  book  to  read  to  the  children." 

"  There  it  is,  mother — «  The  Gold  Thread,' "  Evadne  an 
swered.  "  But  I  cannot  read  to  the  children  until  after  their  tea. 
They  were  at  their  lessons  this  morning,  and  we  are  all  going  out 
this  afternoon."  She  had  neither  forgotten  the  children  nor 
the  time  they  wanted  their  book,  which  was  eminently  character 
istic.  She  never  did  forget  other  people's  interests,  however  M 
much  she  might  be  absorbed  by  the  pleasure  of  her  own 
pursuits. 

"  And  I  found  three  other  books,  mother,  that  I  should  like 
to  have  ;  may  I  ?"  she  continued.  "They  are  all  about  our 
bones  and  brains,  and  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and  diges 
tion.  It  says  in  one  of  them  that  muriatic  acid,  the  chemical 
agent  by  which  the  stomach  dissolves  the  food,  is  probably 
obtained  from  muriate  of  soda,  which  is  common  salt  con 
tained  in  the  blood.  Isn't  that  interesting  ?  And  it  says  that 
pleasure — not  excitement,  you  know — is  the  result  of  the 
action  of  living  organs,  and  it  goes  on  to  explain  it.  Shall  I 
read  it  to  you  ?  " 


22  THE   HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  nonsense  have  you  got  hold  of  now?" 
Mrs.  Frayling  exclaimed,  laughing. 

"  It  is  all  here,  mother,"  Evadne  remonstrated,  tapping  her 
books.  "  Do  look  at  them." 

Mrs.  Frayling  turned  over  a  few  pages  with  dainty 
fingers  :  "  Tracing  from  without  inward,  the  various  cover 
ings  of  the  brain  are,"  she  read  in  one.  "  The  superior  ex 
tremity  consists  of  the  shoulder,  the  arm,  the  forearm,  and  the 
hand,"  she  saw  in  another.  "  Dr.  Harley  also  confirms  the 
opinion  of  M.  Chaveau  that  the  sugar  is  not  destroyed  in  any 
appreciable  quantity  during  its  passage  through  the  tissues," 
she  learned  from  the  third.  "  Oh,  how  nasty  !  "  she  ejaculated, 
alluding  to  the  dust  on  the  cover.  "  And  what  a  state  you 
are  in  yourself  !  You  seem  to  have  a  perfect  mania  for  grub 
bing  up  old  books.  What  do  you  want  with  them  ?  You 
cannot  possibly  understand  them.  Why,  /  can't !  It  is  all 
vanity,  you  know.  Here,  take  them  away." 

"  But,  mother,  I  want  to  keep  them.  They  can't  do  me  any 
harm  if  I  don't  understand  them." 

"You  really  are  tiresome,  Evadne,"  her  mother  rejoined. 
"  It  is  quite  bad  taste  to  be  so  persistent." 

"  I  am  sorry,  mother  ;  I  apologize.  But  I  can  read  them,  I 
suppose,  as  you  don't  see  anything  objectionable  in  them." 

"  Don't  you  see,  dear  child,  that  I  am  trying  to  write  a  letter? 
How  do  you  suppose  I  can  do  so  while  you  stand  chattering 
there  at  my  elbow  !  You  won't  understand  the  books,  but 
you  are  too  obstinate  for  anything,  and  you  had  better  take 
them  and  try.  I  don't  expect  to  hear  anything  more  about 
them,"  she  added  complacently,  as  she  resumed  her  letter. 
Nor  did  she,  but  she  felt  the  effect  of  them  strongly  in  after 
years. 

When  Evadne  went  out  for  a  ride  with  three  of  her  sisters 
that  afternoon  her  mind  was  full  to  overflowing  of  her  morn 
ing  studies,  and  she  would  liked  to  have  shared  such  interesting 
information  with  them,  but  they  discouraged  her. 

"  Isn't  it  curious,"  she  began,  "  our  skulls  are  not  all  in  one 
piece  when  we're  born " 

"I  call  it  simply  nasty"  said  Julia.  She  was  the  one  who 
screamed  at  a  mouse. 

"  You'll  be  a  bore  if  you  don't  mind,"  cried  Evelyn,  who 
monopolized  the  conversation,  as  a  rule. 

Barbara  politely  requested  her  to  "  Shurrup  ! "  a  word  of 
the  boys  which  she  permitted  herself  to  borrow  in  the  exuber- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  2$ 

ance  of  her  spirits  and  the  sanctity  of  private  life  whenever 
Evadne  threatened,  as  on  the  present  occasion,  to  be  "  too  kind." 
Evadne  turned  back  then  and  left  them,  not  because  they 
vexed  her,  but  because  she  wanted  to  have  her  head  to  the 
wind  and  her  thick  brown  hair  blown  back  out  of  her  eyes,  and 
full  leisure  to  reflect  upon  her  last  acquisition  as  she  cantered 
home  happily. 

CHAPTER  V. 

"PVADNE  was  never  a  great  reader  in  the  sense  of  being 
\_j  omnivorous  in  her  choice  of  books,  but  she  became  a  very 
good  one.  She  always  had  a  solid  book  in  hand,  and  some 
standard  work  of  fiction  also  ;  but  she  read  both  with  the 
utmost  deliberation,  and  with  intellect  clear  and  senses  unaf 
fected  by  anything.  After  studying  anatomy  and  physiology, 
she  took  up  pathology  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  naturally 
went  on  from  thence  to  prophylactics  and  therapeutics,  but 
was  quite  unharmed,  because  she  made  no  personal  applica 
tion  of  her  knowledge  as  the  coarser  mind  masculine  of  the 
ordinary  medical  student  is  apt  to  do.  She  read  of  all  the 
diseases  to  which  the  heart  is  subject,  and  thought  of  them 
familiarly  as  "  cardiac  affections,"  without  fancying  she  had 
one  of  them  ;  and  she  obtained  an  extraordinary  knowledge 
of  the  digestive  processes  and  their  ailments  without  realizing 
that  her  own  might  ever  be  affected.  She  possessed,  in  fact, 
a  mind  of  exceptional  purity  as  well  as  of  exceptional  strength, 
one  to  be  enlightened  by  knowledge,  not  corrupted  ;  but  had 
it  been  otherwise  she  must  certainly  have  suffered  in  conse 
quence  of  the  effect  of  the  curiously  foolish  limitations  imposed 
upon  her  by  those  who  had  charge  of  her  conventional  educa 
tion.  Subjects  were  surrounded  by  mystery  which  should 
have  been  explained.  An  impossible  ignorance  was  the  object 
aimed  at,  and  so  long  as  no  word  was  spoken  on  either  side  it 
was  supposed  to  be  attained.  The  risk  of  making  mysteries 
for  an  active  intellect  to  feed  upon  was  never  even  considered, 
nor  did  anyone  perceive  the  folly  of  withholding  positive 
knowledge,  which,  when  properly  conveyed,  is  the  true  source 
of  healthy-mindedness,  from  a  child  whose  intelligent  percep 
tion  was  already  sufficiently  keen  to  require  ft.  Principles 
were  dealt  out  to  her,  for  one  thing,  with  a  generous  want  of 
definition  which  must  have  made  them  fatal  to  all  progress 
had  she  been  able  to  take  them  intact.  Her  mother's  favourite 


24  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

and  most  inclusive  dictum  alone,  that  "  everything  is  fof  the 
best,  and  all  things  work  together  for  good,"  should  have 
forced  her  to  a  matter  of  fact  acceptance  of  wickedness  as  a 
thing  inevitable  which  it  would  be  waste  of  time  to  oppose, 
since  it  was  bound  to  resolve  itself  into  something  satisfactory 
in  the  end,  like  the  objectionable  refuse  which  can  be  con 
verted  by  ingenious  processes  into  an  excellent  substitute  for 
butter.  But  she  was  saved  from  the  stultification  of  such  a 
position  by  finding  it  impossible  to  reconcile  it  practically  with 
the  constant  opposition  which  she  found  herself  at  the  same 
time  enjoined  to  oppose  to  so  many  things.  If  everything 
is  for  the  best,  it  appeared  to  her,  clearly  we  cannot  logically 
oppose  ourselves  to  anything,  and  there  must  accordingly  be 
two  trinities  in  ethics,  good,  better,  best,  and  bad,  worse,  worst, 
which  it  is  impossible  to  condense  into  one  comprehensive 
axiom. 

But  most  noticeably  prominent,  to  her  credit,  through  all 
this  period  are  the  same  desirable  characteristics,  viz.,  that 
provisional  acceptance  already  noticed  of  what  she  was  taught 
by  those  whom  she  delighted  to  honor  and  obey,  and  the 
large-minded  absence  of  prejudice  which  enabled  her  to  differ 
from  them,  when  she  saw  good  cause,  without  antagonism. 
"  Drop  the  subject  when  you  do  not  agree :  there  is  no  need 
to  be  bitter  because  you  know  you  are  right,"  was  the  maxim 
she  used  in  ordinary  social  intercourse  ;  but  she  was  at  the 
same  time  forming  principles  to  be  acted  upon  in  opposition  to 
everybody  when  occasion  called  for  action.  Another  notice 
able  point,  too,  was  the  way  in  which  her  mind  returned  from 
every  excursion  into  no  matter  what  abstruse  region  of 
research,  to  the  position  of  women,  her  original  point  of 
departure.  "Withholding  education  from  women  was  the 
original  sin  of  man,"  she  concludes. 

Mind  as  creator  appealed  to  her  less  than  mind  as  recorder, 
reasoner,  and  ruler  ;  and  for  one  gem  of  poetry  or  other  beauty 
of  purely  literary  value  which  she  quotes,  there  are  fifty  records 
of  principles  of  action.  The  acquisition  of  knowledge  was  her 
lavourite  pastime,  her  principal  pleasure  in  life,  and  there  were 
no  doubts  of  her  own  ability  to  disturb  her  so  long  as  there 
was  no  self-consciousness.  Unfortunately,  however,  for  her 
tranquillity,  the  self-consciousness  had  to  come.  She  ap 
proached  the  verge  of  womanhood.  She  was  made  to  do  up 
her  hair.  She  was  encouraged  to  think  of  being  presented, 
coming  out,  and  having  a  home  of  her  own  eventually.  Her 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  25 

liberty  of  action  was  sensibly  curtailed,  but  all  supervision  in 
the  matter  of  her  mental  pursuits  was  withdrawn.  She  had 
received  the  accustomed  education  for  a  girl  in  her  position, 
which  her  parents  held,  without  knowing  it  themselves,  per 
haps,  to  consist  for  the  most  part  in  being  taught  to  know 
better  than  to  read  anything  which  they  would  have  consid 
ered  objectionable.  But  the  end  of  the  supervision,  which 
should  have  been  a  joy  to  her,  brought  the  first  sudden  sense 
of  immensity,  and  was  chilling.  She  perceived  that  the  world 
is  large  and  strong,  and  that  she  was  small  and  weak  ;  that 
knowledge  is  infinite,  capacity  indifferent,  life  short — and  then 
came  the  inevitable  moment.  She  does  not  say  what  caused 
the  first  overwhelming  sense  of  self  in  her  own  case  ;  but  the 
change  it  wrought  is  evident,  and  the  disheartening  doubts 
with  which  it  was  accompanied  are  expressed.  She  picks  her 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
and  realizes  her  own  limitations  : 

.  .  .  but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

And  from  this  time  forward  there  is  less  literature  and  more 
life  in  the  "  Commonplace  Book." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MR.  and  Lady  Adeline  Hamilton-Wells,  with  the  inevitable 
twins,  came  constantly  to  Fray lin gay  while  Evadne  was 
in  the  schoolroom,  and  generally  during  the  holidays,  that  she 
might  be  at  liberty  to  look  after  the  twins,  whose  moral  obli 
quities  she  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  control  better  than  any 
body  else.  They  once  told  their  mother  that  they  liked 
Evadne,  "  because  she  was  so  good  "  ;  and  Lady  Adeline  had 
a  delicious  moment  of  hope.  If  the  twins  had  begun  to  appre 
ciate  goodness  they  would  be  better  themselves  directly,  she 
was  thinking,  when  Diavolo  exclaimed  :  "  We  can  shock  her 
easier  than  anybody,"  and  hope  died  prematurely.  They  had 
been  a  source  of  interest,  and  also  of  some  concern  to  Evadne 
from  the  first.  She  took  a  grave  view  of  their  vagaries,  and 
entertained  doubts  on  the  subject  of  their  salvation  should  an 
"  all-wise  Providence "  catch  them  peering  into  a  sewer, 


26  THE  HEAVENLY   T IV INS. 

resolve  itself  into  a  poisonous  gas,  and  cut  them  off  suddenly 
— a  fate  which  had  actually  overtaken  a  small  brother  of  her 
own  who  was  not  a  good  little  boy  either — a  fact  which  was  the 
cause  of  much  painful  reflection  to  Evadne.  She  understood 
all  about  the  drain  and  the  poisonous  gas,  but  she  could  not 
fit  in  the  t(  all-wise  Providence  acting  only  for  the  best," 
which  was  introduced  as  primary  agent  in  the  sad  affair  by 
44  their  dear  Mr.  Campbell,"  as  her  mother  called  him,  in  '*  a 
most  touching  and  strengthening "  discourse  he  delivered 
from  the  pulpit  on  the  subject.  If  Binny  were  naughty — and 
Binny  was  naughty  beyond  all  hope  of  redemption,  according 
to  the  books  ;  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that,  for  he  not 
only  committed  one,  but  each  and  every  sin  sufficient  in  itself 
for  condemnation,  all  in  one  day,  too,  when  he  could,  and 
twice  over  if  there  were  time.  He  disobeyed  orders.  He 
fought  cads.  He  stole  apples.  He  told  lies — in  fact,  he  pre 
ferred  to  tell  lies  ;  truth  had  no  charm  for  him.  And  all  these 
things  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  regularly  to  the  best  of  his 
ability  when  he  was  "  cut  off  ";  and  how  such  an  end  could 
be  all  for  the  best,  if  the  wicked  must  perish,  and  it  is  not 
good  to  perish,  was  the  puzzle.  There  was  something  she 
could  not  grasp  of  a  contradictory  nature  in  it  all  that  tor 
mented  her.  The  doctrine  of  Purgatory  might  have  been  a 
help,  but  she  had  not  heard  of  it. 

She  told  the  twins  the  story  of  Binny's  sad  end  once  in  the 
orthodox  way,  as  a  warning,  but  the  warning  was  the  only  part 
of  it  which  failed  to  impress  them.  "  And  do  you  know,"  she 
said  solemnly,  "  there  were  some  green  apples  found  in  his 
pockets  after  he  was  dead,  actually  ! " 

"  What  a  pity  !  "  Diavolo  exclaimed.  If  they  had  been 
found  in  his  stomach  it  would  have  been  so  much  more  satis 
factory.  "  How  did  he  get  the  apples  ?  Off  the  tree  or  out 
of  the  storeroom  ?  " 

".I  don't  know,"  said  Evadne. 

"They  wouldn't  have  green  apples  in  the  storeroom," 
Angelica  thought. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  might,"  Diavolo  considered.  "  Those  big 
cooking  fellows,  you  know — they're  green  enough." 

"  But  they're  not  nice,"  said  Angelica. 

"  No,  but  you  don't  think  of  that  till  you've  got  them,"  was 
the  outcome  of  Diavolo's  experience.  "  Is  your  storeroom 
on  the  ground  floor  ?  "  he  asked  Evadne, 

'*  No,"  she  answered. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  27 

11  Is  there  a  creeper  outside  the  window  ? "  he  pursued. 

"  No,  creepers  won't  grow  because  a  big  lime  tree  over 
hangs  it." 

The  children  exchanged  glances. 

l<  I  shouldn't  have  made  that  room  a  storeroom,"  said 
Angelica.  "  Lime  trees  bring  flies.  There's  something  flies 
like  on  the  leaves." 

"But  any  tree  will  bring  flies  if  you  smear  the  leaves  with 
sweet  stuff,"  said  Diavolo.  "  You  remember  that  copper- 
beech  outside  papa's  dressing  room  window,  Angelica  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  He  had  to  turn  out  of  his 
dressing  room  this  summer  ;  he  couldn't  stand  them." 

"  But  was  Binny  often  caught,  Evadne  ?  "  Diavolo  asked. 

"  Often,"  she  said. 

"And  punished  ?" 

"A/ways." 

"  But  I  suppose  he  had  generally  eaten  the  apples  ?  "  Angel 
ica  suggested  anxiously. 

"  It's  better  to  eat  them  at  once,"  sighed  Diavolo.  "  Did 
you  say  he  did  everything  he  was  told  not  to  do  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  expect  when  he  was  told  not  to  do  a  thing  he  could  not 
think  of  anything  else  until  he  had  done  it,"  said  Angelica. 

"  And  now  he's  in  heaven,"  Diavolo  speculated,  looking  up 
through  the  window  with  big  bright  eyes  pathetically. 

The  twins  thought  a  good  deal  about  heaven  in  their  own 
way.  Lady  Adeline  did  not  like  them  to  be  talked  to  on  the 
subject.  They  were  indefatigable  explorers,  and  it  was  pop 
ularly  supposed  that  only  the  difficulty  of  being  present  at 
an  inquest  on  their  own  bodies,  which  they  would  have 
thoroughly  enjoyed,  had  kept  them  so  far  from  trying  to  obtain 
a  glimpse  of  the  next  world.  They  discovered  the  storeroom 
at  Fraylingay  half  an  hour  after  they  had  discussed  the  improv 
ing  details  of  Binny's  exciting  career,  and  had  found  it  quite 
easy  of  access  by  means  of  the  available  lime  tree.  They  both 
suffered  a  good  deal  that  night,  and  they  thought  of  Binny. 
"  But  there's  nothing  in  our  pockets,  that's  one  comfort," 
Diavolo  exclaimed  suddenly,  to  the  astonishment  of  his  mother, 
who  was  sitting  up  with  him.  Angelica  heaved  a  sigh  of  satis 
faction. 

Evadne's  patience  with  the  twins  was  wonderful.  She 
always  took  charge  of  them  cheerfully  on  wet  days  and  in 
other  times  of  trouble,  and  managed  them  with  infinite  tact. 


*8  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  How  do  you  do  it,  my  dear  ? "  Lady  Adeline  asked.  "  Do 
you  talk  to  them  and  tell  them  stories  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Evadne,  "  I  don't  talk  much  ;  I — just  don't  lose 
sight  of  them — or  interfere — if  I  can  possibly  help  it." 

The  twins  had  no  reverence  for  anything  or  anybody.  One 
day  they  were  in  Evadne's  little  sitting  room  which  overlooked 
the  courtyard.  It  was  an  antechamber  to  her  bedroom,  and 
peculiarly  her  own  by  right  of  primogeniture.  Nobody  ever 
thought  of  going  there  without  her  special  permission — except, 
of  course,  the  twins  ;  but  even  they  assumed  hypocritical  airs 
of  innocent  apology  for  accidental  intrusion  when  they  wanted 
to  make  things  pleasant  for  themselves. 

On  this  particular  occasion  Evadne  was  sitting  beside  her 
little  work-table  busy  with  her  needle,  and  the  twins  were 
standing  together  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  There's  papa,"  said  Diavolo. 

"  He's  going  for  a  ride,"  said  Angelica. 

"  Doesn't  he  mount  queerly  ?  "  Diavolo  observed.  "  He'd 
be  safer  in  a  bath  chair." 

"  Not  if  we  were  wheeling  him,"  Angelica  suggested,  with  a 
chuckle. 

'  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  yawned  Diavolo.     "  Shall  we  fight  ?  " 

'  Yes  ;   let's,"  said  Angelica. 

'You  must  do  no  such  thing,"  Evadne  interfered. 

1  Not  fight  !     Why  ?  "  Angelica  demanded. 

'  We  must  fight,  you  know,"  Diavolo  asserted. 

'I  don't  see  that,"  said  Evadne.  "Why  should  you 
fight?" 

"  It's  good  for  the  circulation  of  the  blood,"  said  Angelica. 
"  Warms  a  body,  you  know." 

"And  there's  the  property,  too!'*  said  Diavolo.  "We've 
got  to  fight  for  that." 

Evadne  did  not  understand,  so  Angelica  kindly  explained : 
"  You  see,  I'm  the  eldest,  but  Diavolo's  a  boy,  so  he  gets  the 
property  because  of  the  entail,  and  we  neither  of  us  think  it 
fair  ;  so  we  fight  for  it,  and  whichever  wins  is  to  have  it.  I 
won  the  last  battle,  so  it's  mine  just  now  ;  but  Diavolo  may 
win  it  back  if  we  fight  again  before  papa  dies.  That's  why  he 
wants  to  fight  now,  I  expect." 

"Yes,"  Diavolo  candidly  confessed.  "But  we  generally 
fight  when  we  see  papa  go  out  for  a  ride." 

"  Because  you  are  afraid  he  will  catch  you  and  punish  you. 
as  you  deserve,  if  he's  at  home,  I  suppose,  you  bad  children." 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  29 

u  Not  at  all,"  said  Angelica.  "  It's  because  he  looks  so 
unsafe  on  a  horse  ;  you  never  know  what'll  happen." 

"  It's  a  kind  of  a  last  chance,"  said  Diavolo,  "  and  that 
makes  it  exciting." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  be  very  sorry  if  your  father  died  ? " 
Evadne  asked. 

The  twins  looked  at  each  other  doubtfully. 

"  Should  we  ?  "  Diavolo  said  to  Angelica. 

"I  wonder  ?"  said  Angelica. 

One  wet  day  they  chose  to  paint  in  Evadne's  room  because 
they  could  not  go  out.  She  found  pictures,  and  got  everything 
ready  for  them  good-naturedly,  and  then  they  sat  themselves 
down  at  a  little  table  opposite  each  other  ;  but  the  weather 
affected  their  spirits,  and  made  them  both  fractious.  They 
wanted  the  same  picture  to  begin  with,  and  only  settled  the 
question  by  demolishing  it  in  their  attempts  to  snatch  it  from 
each  other.  Then  there  was  only  one  left  between  them,  but 
happily  they  remembered  that  artists  sometimes  work  at  the 
same  picture,  and  it  further  occurred  to  them  that  it  would  be 
an  original  method — or  "  funny,"  as  they  phrased  it — for  one 
of  them  to  work  at  it  wrong  side  up.  So  Angelica  daubed  the 
sky  blue  on  her  side  of  the  table,  and  Diavolo  flung  green  on 
the  fields  from  his.  They  had  large  genial  mouths  at  that 
time,  indefinite  noses,  threatening  to  turn  up  a  little,  and  bright 
dark  eyes,  quick  glancing,  but  with  no  particular  expression  in 
them — no  symptom  either  of  love  or  hate,  nothing  but  living  in 
terest.  It  was  pretty  to  see  Diavolo's  fair  head  touching  Angel 
ica's  dark  one  across  the  little  table  ;  but  when  it  came  too 
close  Angelica  would  dunt  it  sharply  out  of  the  way  with  her 
own,  which  was  apparently  the  harder  of  the  two,  and  Diavolo 
would  put  up  his  hand  and  rub  the  spot  absently.  He  was  too 
thoroughly  accustomed  to  such  sisterly  attentions  to  be  alto 
gether  conscious  of  them. 

The  weather  darkened  down. 

"  I  wish  I  could  see,"  he  grumbled. 

'*  Get  out  of  your  own  light,"  said  Angelica. 

"  How  can  I  get  out  of  my  own  light  when  there  isn't  any 
light  to  get  out  of  ?  " 

Angelica  put  her  paint  brush  in  her  mouth,  and  looked  up 
at  the  window  thoughtfully. 

"  Let's  make  it  into  a  song,"  she  said. 

"Let's,"  said  Diavolo,  intent  upon  making  blue  and  yellow 
into  green. 


30  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S, 

"  No  light  have  we,  and  that  we  do  resent, 
And,  learning,  this  the  weather  will  relent, 
Repent  1     Relent !     Ah-men," 

Angelica  sang.     Diavolo  paused  with  his  brush  halfway  to  his 
mouth,  and  nodded  intelligently. 

"  Now  ! "  said  Angelica,  and  they  repeated  the  parody 
together,  Angelica  making  a  perfect  second  to  Diavolo's 
exquisite  treble. 

Evadne  looked  up  from  her  work  surprised.  Her  own  voice 
was  contralto,  but  it  would  have  taken  her  a  week  to  learn  to 
sing  a  second  from  the  notes,  and  she  had  never  dreamt  of 
making  one. 

"I  didn't  know  you  could  sing,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  can  sing,"  Angelica  answered  cheerfully. 
"  We've  a  decided  talent  for  music." 

"  Angelica  can  make  a  song  in  a  moment,"  said  Diavolo. 
"Let  me  paint  your  nose  green,  Evadne." 

"  You  can  paint  mine  if  you  like,"  said  Angelica. 

"  No,  I  shan't.     I  shall  paint  my  own." 

"  No,  you  paint  mine,  and  I'll  paint  yours,"  Angelica  sug 
gested. 

"Well,  both  together,  then,"  Diavolo  answered. 

"  Honest  Injin,"  Angelica  agreed,  and  they  set  to  work. 

Evadne  sat  with  her  embroidery  in  her  lap  and  watched 
them.  Their  faces  would  have  to  be  washed  in  any  case,  and 
they  might  as  well  be  washed  for  an  acre  as  for  an  inch  of 
paint.  She  never  nagged  with,  "  Don't  do  this,"  and  u  Don't 
do  that"  about  everything,  if  their  offences  could  be  summed 
up,  and  wiped  out  in  some  such  way  all  at  once. 

"We'll  sing  you  an  anthem  some  day,"  Angelica  presently 
promised. 

"  Why  not  now  ?  "  said  Evadne. 

"  The  spirit  does  not  move  us,"  Diavolo  answered. 

"  But  you  may  forget,"  said  Evadne. 

'  We  never  forget  our  promises,"  Angelica  protested  as 
proudly  as  was  possible  with  a  green  nose. 

Nor  did  they,  curiously  enough.  They  made  a  point  of 
keeping  their  word,  but  in  their  own  way,  and  this  one  was  kept 
in  due  course.  The  time  they  chose  was  when  a  certain  Grand 
Duke  was  staying  in  the  house.  They  had  quite  captivated 
him,  and  he  expressed  a  wish  to  hear  them  sing. 

"  Shall  we  ?  "  said  Diavolo. 

"  We  will,"  said  Angelica,     "  Not  because  he's  a  prince,  but 


THE   HEAVENLY   TWINS.  3* 

because  we  promised  Evadne  an  anthem,  and  we  might  as  well 
do  it  now,"  she  added  with  true  British  independence. 

The  prince  chuckled. 

"  What  shall  it  be  ? "  said  Diavolo,  settling  himself  at  the 
piano.  He  always  played  the  accompaniments. 

"  Papa,  I  think,"  said  Angelica. 

"  What  is  '  Papa  '  ?  "  Lady  Adeline  asked  anxiously. 

"  Very  nice,  or  you  wouldn't  have  married  him,"  answered 
Angelica.  "  Go  on,  Diavolo.  If  you  sing  flat,  I'll  slap  you." 

"  If  you're  impertinent,  miss,  I'll  put  you  out,"  Diavolo 
retorted. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Evadne  sharply,  fearing  a  fight. 

But  to  everybody's  intense  relief  the  prince  laughed,  and 
then  the  twins'  distinguished  manners  appeared  in  a  new  and 
agreeable  light. 

"  Papa — Papa — Papa" — they  sang — "  Papa  says — that  we 
— that  we — that  we  are  little  devils  !  and  so  we  are — we  are — 
we  are  and  ever  shall  be — world  without  end." 

"  I  am  a  chip"  Diavolo  trilled  exquisitely  ;  *  I  am  a  chip" 

"  Thou  art  a  chip — Thou  art  a  chip"  Angelica  responded. 

"  We  are  both  chips"  they  concluded  harmoniously — "  chips 
of  the  old — old  block  !  And  as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  a  fid 
ever  shall  be,  world  without  end.  Amen  !  " 

11  You  sang  that  last  phrase  flat,  you — pulp  !  "  cried  Angelica. 

"  I  can't  both  sing  and  play,"  Diavolo  protested. 

"  You'll  say  you  can't  eat  and  breathe  next,"  she  retorted, 
giving  his  hair  a  tug. 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Just  to  waken  you  up,"  she  answered. 

"Are  they  always  like  this?"  the  prince  asked,  much 
edified. 

"  This  is  nothing,"  groaned  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells. 

"  Nothing  if  it  is  not  genius,"  the  prince  suggested  grace 
fully. 

"  The  ineffectual  genius  of  the  nineteenth  century,  I  fancy, 
which  betrays  itself  by  strange  incongruities  and  contrasts  of 
a  violent  kind,  but  is  otherwise  unproductive,'*  Mrs.  Orton 
Beg  whispered  to  Mr.  Frayling  incautiously. 

Lady  Adeline  looked  up  :  "I  could  not  help  hearing,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  Adeline,  I  am  sorry  !  "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  exclaimed. 

"/thank  you,"  said  Lady  Adeline,  sighing.  "  Courtly  phrases 
are  pleasant  plums,  even  to  latter-day  palates  which  are  losing 


32  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

all  taste  for  such  dainties ;  but  they  are  not  nourishing.  I 
would  rather  know  my  children  to  be  merely  naughty,  and 
spend  my  time  in  trying  to  make  them  good,  than  falsely  flatter 
myself  that  there  is  anything  great  in  them,  and  indulge  them 
on  that  plea,  until  I  had  thoroughly  confirmed  them  in  faults 
which  I  ought  to  have  been  rigorously  repressing." 

"  You're  right  there,"  said  Mr.  Frayling  ;  "  but  all  the  same, 
you'll  be  able  to  make  a  good  deal  of  that  boy  or  I'm  much 
mistaken.  And  as  for  Angelica,  why,  when  she  is  at  the  head 
of  an  establishment  of  her  own,  she  will  require  all  her  smart 
ness.  But  teach  her  housekeeping,  Lady  Adeline  ;  that  is  the 
thing  for  her." 

Evadne  was  sitting  near  her  father,  not  taking  part  in  the 
conversation,  but  attending  to  it  ;  and  Lady  Adeline  happen 
ing  to  look  at  her  at  this  moment,  saw  something  which  gave 
her  "  pause  to  ponder."  Evadne's  face  recalled  somewhat  the 
type  of  old  Egypt,  Egypt  with  an  intellect  added.  Her  eyes 
were  long  and  apparently  narrow,  but  not  so  in  reality — a  trick 
she  had  of  holding  them  half  shut  habitually  gave  a  false  im 
pression  of  their  size,  and  veiled  the  penetration  of  their  glance 
also,  which  was  exceptionally  keen.  In  moments  of  emotion, 
however,  she  would  open  them  to  the  full  unexpectedly,  and 
then  the  effect  was  startling  and  peculiar  ;  and  it  was  one  of 
these  transient  flashes  which  surprised  Lady  Adeline  when  Mr. 
Frayling  made  that  last  remark.  It  was  a  mere  gleam,  but  it 
revealed  Evadne  to  Lady  Adeline  as  a  flash  of  lightning  might 
have  revealed  a  familiar  landscape  on  a  dark  night.  She  saw 
what  she  expected  to  see  but  all  transformed,  and  she  saw  some 
thing  beyond,  which  she  did  not  expect,  and  could  neither 
comprehend  nor  forget.  So  far  she  had  only  thought  of  Evadne 
as  a  nice,  quiet  little  thing  with  nothing  particular  in  her;  from 
that  evening,  however,  she  suspended  her  opinion,  suspecting 
something,  but  waiting  to  know  more.  Evadne  was  then  in 
her  eighteenth  year,  but  not  yet  out. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

MRS.  ORTON  BEG  was  a  sister  of  Mrs  Frayling's  and  an 
oracle  to  Evadne.     Mrs.  Frayling  was  fair,  plump,  sweet, 
yielding,  commonplace,  prolific.     Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  a  barren 
widow,  slender,  sincere,  silent,  firm,  and  tender.  Mrs.  Frayling, 
for  lack  of  insight,  was  unsympathetic,  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was 


THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS.  33 

just  the  opposite  ;  and  she  and  Evadne  understood  each  other, 
and  were  silent  together  in  the  most  companionable  way  in 
the  world. 

When  Evadne  went  to  her  own  room  on  the  evening  made 
memorable  by  the  twins'  famous  anthem,  she  was  haunted  by 
that  word  "  ineffectual,"  which  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  had  used. 
"  Ineffectual  genius  " — there  was  something  familiar  as  well  as 
high  sounding  in  the  epithet ;  it  recalled  an  idea  with  which  she 
was  already  acquainted  ;  what  was  it  ?  She  opened  her  "  Com 
monplace  Book,"  and  sat  with  her  pen  in  her  hand,  cogitating 
comfortably.  She  had  no  need  to  weary  her  fresh  young  brain 
with  an  irritating  pursuit  of  what  she  wanted  ;  she  had  only  to 
wait,  and  it  would  recur  to  her.  And  presently  it  came.  Her 
countenance  brightened.  She  bent  over  the  book  and  wrote 
a  few  lines,  read  them  when  she  had  blotted  them,  and  was 
satisfied. 

"  I  have  it,"  she  wrote.  "  Shelley=genius  of  the  nineteenth 
century — *  Beautiful  and  ineffectual  angel,  beating  in  the  void 
his  luminous  wings  in  vain.' — Matthew  Arnold" 

When  she  had  done  this  she  took  up  a  book,  went  to  the  fire, 
settled  herself  in  an  easy-chair  and  began  to  read.  The  book 
was  "  Ruth,"  by  Mrs.  Gaskell,  and  she  was  just  finishing  it. 
When  she  had  done  so  she  went  back  to  the  table,  and  copied 
out  the  following  paragraph  : 

"  The  daily  life  into  which  people  are  born,  and  into  which 
they  are  absorbed  before  they  are  aware,  forms  chains  which 
only  one  in  a  hundred  has  moral  strength  enough  to  despise, 
and  to  break  when  the  right  time  comes — when  an  inward 
necessity  for  independent  action  arises,  which  is  superior  to  all 
outward  conventionalities." 

She  stopped  here,  and  pushed  the  volume  away  from  her. 
It  was  the  only  passage  in  it  which  she  cared  to  remember. 

She  had  lost  the  confidence  of  the  child  by  this  time,  and 
become  humbly  doubtful  of  her  own  opinion  ;  and  instead  of 
summing  up  "  Ruth  "  boldly,  as  she  would  have  done  the  year 
before,  she  paused  now  a  moment  to  reflect  before  she  wrote 
with  diffidence  : 

"  The  principal  impression  this  book  has  made  upon  me  is 
that  Mrs.  Gaskell  must  have  been  a  very  lovable  woman.* 

*  George  Eliot  thought  so  too,  years  before  Evadne  was  born,  and 
expressed  the  thought  in  a  letter  in  which  she  also  prophesied  that  "  Ruth" 
would  not  live  through  a  generation.  The  impression  the  book  made  upon 
Evadne  is  another  proof  of  prescience  in  the  great  writer. 


34  THE  HEAVENLV   TWINS. 

The  story  seems  to  me  long  drawn  out,  and  of  small  signifi 
cance.  It  is  full  of  food  for  the  heart,  but  the  head  goes 
empty  away,  and  both  should  be  satisfied  by  a  work  of  fiction, 
I  think.  But  perhaps  it  is  my  own  mood  that  is  at  fault.  At 
another  time  I  might  have  found  gems  in  it  which  now  in  my 
dulness  I  have  failed  to  perceive." 

Somebody  knocked  at  the  door  as  she  blotted  the  words. 

"  Come  in,  auntie,"  she  said,  as  if  in  answer  to  an  accus 
tomed  signal  ;  and  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  entered  in  a  long,  loose, 
voluminously  draped  white  wrapper. 

Evadne  drew  an  easy-chair  to  the  fire  for  her. 

"  Sit  down,  auntie,"  she  said,  "  and  be  cosey.  You  are  late 
to-night.  I  was  afraid  you  were  not  coming." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  in  the  habit  of  coining  to  Evadne's 
room  every  evening  when  she  was  at  Fraylingay,  to  chat,  or 
sit  silently  sociable  over  the  fire  with  her  before  saying  good 
night. 

"  Do  I  ever  fail  you  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  No.  But  I  have  been  afraid  of  the  fatal  fascination  of 
that  great  fat  foreign  prince.  He  singled  you  out  for  special 
attention,  and  I  have  been  jealous." 

"  Well,  you  need  not  have  been,  for  he  singled  me  out  in 
order  to  talk  about  you.  He  thinks  you  are  a  nice  child. 
You  interest  him." 

"  Defend  me  !  "  said  Evadne.  "  But  you  mistake  me,  dear 
aunt.  It  was  not  of  him  I  was  jealous,  but  of  you.  The  fat 
prince  is  nothing  to  me,  and  you  are  a  very  great  deal." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg's  face  brightened  at  the  words,  but  she  con 
tinued  to  look  into  the  fire  silently  for  some  seconds  after 
Evadne  had  spoken,  and  made  no  other  visible  sign  of  having 
heard  them. 

"I  don't  think  I  ought  to  encourage  you  to  sit  up  so  late," 
she  said  presently.  "  Lady  Adeline  has  just  been  asking  me 
who  it  is  that  burns  the  midnight  oil  up  here  so  regularly." 

"  Lady  Adeline  must  be  up  very  late  herself  to  see  it,"  said 
Evadne.  "  I  suppose  those  precious  twins  disturb  her.  I  wish 
she  would  let  me  take  entire  charge  of  them  when  she  is  here. 
It  would  be  a  relief,  I  should  think  !  " 

"  It  would  be  an  imposition,"  said  Mrs.  Orton  Beg.  "  But 
you  are  a  brave  girl,  Evadne.  /would  not  venture." 

"  Oh,  they  delight  me,"  Evadne  answered.  "  And  I  know 
them  well  enough  now  to  forestall  them." 

"  When  I  told  Lady  Adeline  that  these  were  your  rooms," 


THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS.  35 

her  aunt  pursued,  "  she  said  something  about  a  lily  maid  high 
in  her  chamber  up  a  tower  to  the  east  guarding  the  sacred 
shield  of  Lancelot." 

"  Singularly  inappropriate,"  said  Evadne.  "  For  my  towOr 
is  south  and  west,  thank  Heaven." 

"  And  there  isn't  a  symptom  of  Lancelot,"  her  aunt  con 
cluded. 

*'  Young  ladies  don't  guard  sacred  shields  nowadays,"  said 
Evadne. 

"  No,"  answered  her  aunt,  glancing  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
open  book  on  the  table.  "  They  have  substituted  the  sacred 
'  Commonplace  Book  ' — full  of  thought,  I  fancy." 

"  You  speak  regretfully,  auntie ,  but  isn't  it  better  to  think 
and  be  happy,  than  to  die  of  atrophy  for  a  sentiment  ?" 

"I  don't  think  it  better  to  extinguish  all  sentiment.  Life 
without  sentiment  would  be  so  bald." 

"  But  life  with  that  kind  of  sentiment  doesn't  last  it  seems, 
and  nobody  is  benefited  by  it.  It  is  extreme  misery  to  the 
girl  herself,  and  she  dies  young,  leaving  a  legacy  of  lifelong 
regret  and  bitterness  to  her  friends.  I  should  think  it  small 
comfort  to  become  the  subject  for  a  poem  or  a  picture  at  such 
a  price.  And  surely,  auntie,  sentiments  which  are  silly  or  dan 
gerous  would  be  better  extinguished  ?  " 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  smiled  at  the  fire  enigmatically. 

"  But  the  poem  or  the  picture  may  become  a  lasting  benefit 
to  mankind,"  she  suggested  presently. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Evadne. 

"You  doubt  it?" 

"Well,  you  see,  auntie,  there  are  two  ways  of  looking  at  it. 
When  you  first  come  across  the  poem  or  the  picture  which 
perpetuates  the  sentiment  that  slew  the  girl,  and  beautifies  it, 
you  feel  a  glow  all  over,  and  fancy  you  would  like  to  imitate 
her,  and  think  that  you  would  deserve  great  credit  for  it  if  you 
did.  But  when  you  come  to  consider,  there  is  nothing  very 
noble,  after  all,  in  a  hopeless  passion  for  an  elderly  man  of  the 
world  who  is  past  being  benefited  by  it,  even  if  he  could  recip 
rocate  it.  Elaine  should  have  married  a  man  of  her  own  age, 
and  made  him  happy.  She  would  have  done  some  good  in  her 
time  so,  and  been  saved  from  setting  us  a  bad  example.  I  think 
it  a  sin  to  make  unwholesome  sentiments  attractive." 

"  Then  Lancelot  does  not  charm  you  ?  " 

*'  No,"  said  Evadne  thoughtfully.  "  I  should  have  preferred 
the  king." 


36  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  Ah,  yes.  Because  he  was  the  nobler,  the  more  ideal 
man?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  Evadne  answered.  "  But  because  he 
was  the  more  wholesome." 

"  My  dear  child,  are  you  speaking  literally  ?  " 

"  Yes,  auntie." 

"  Good  Heavens  ! "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  ejaculated  softly. 
"  The  times  have  changed." 

"  Yes,  we  know  more  now,"  Evadne  answered  tranquilly. 

*'  You  are  fulfilling  the  promise  of  your  youth,  Evadne,"  her 
aunt  remarked  after  a  thoughtful  pause.  "  I  remember  read 
ing  a  fairy  tale  of  Jean  Ingelow's  aloud  to  you  children  in  the 
nursery  long  ago.  I  forget  the  name  of  it,  but  it  was  the  one 
into  which  '  One  morning,  oh,  so  early,'  comes  ;  and  you  started 
a  controversy  as  to  whether,  speaking  of  the  dove,  when  the 
lark  said  '  Give  us  glory,'  she  should  have  made  answer,  *  Give 
us  peace  '  or  *  peas.'  The  latter,  you  maintained,  as  being  the 
more  natural,  and  the  most  sensible." 

"  I  must  have  been  a  horrid  little  prig  in  those  days,"  said 
Evadne,  smiling.  "But,  auntie,  there  can  be  no  peace  with 
out  plenty.  And  I  think  I  would  rather  be  a  sensible  realist 
than  a  foolish  idealist.  You  mean  that  you  think  me  too  much 
of  a  utilitarian,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  You  are  in  danger,  I  think." 

"  Utilitarianism  is  Bentham's  greatest  happiness  principle,  is 
it  not?"  Evadne  asked. 

"  Yes — greatest  human  happiness,"  her  aunt  replied. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  how  that  can  be  dangerous  in  principle. 
But,  of  course,  I  know  nothing  of  such  questions  practically. 
Only  I  do  seem  to  perceive  that  you  must  rest  on  a  solid  basis 
of  real  advantages  before  you  can  reach  up  to  ideal  perfection 
with  any  chance  of  success." 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  wide  awake  to-night,  Evadne,"  Mrs. 
Orton  Beg  rejoined.  "  This  is  ;he  first  I  have  heard  of  your 
peculiar  views." 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  kind  of  owl,  I  think,  auntie,"  Evadne  answered 
apologetically.  "You  see,  I  never  had  anything  to  do  in  the 
schoolroom  that  I  could  not  manage  when  I  was  half  asleep, 
and  so  I  formed  a  habit  of  dozing  over  my  lessons  by  day,  and 
waking  up  when  I  came  to  bed  at  night.  Having  a  room  of 
my  own  always  has  been  a  great  advantage.  I  have  been 
secure  all  along  of  a  quiet  time  at  night  for  reading  and  thought 
—and  that  is  real  life,  auntie,  isn't  it  ?  I  don't  care  to  talk 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  37 

much,  as  a  rule,  do  you  ?  I  like  to  listen  and  watch  people. 
But  I  always  wake  up  at  this  time  of  the  night,  and  I  feel  as  if 
I  could  be  quite  garrulous  now  when  everybody  else  is  going  to 
sleep.  But,  auntie,  don't  use  such  an  ominous  expression  as 
*  peculiar  views'  about  anything  I  say,  please;  *  views'  are 
always  in  ill  odour,  and  peculiarities,  even  peculiar  perfections, 
would  isolate  one,  and  that  I  do  dread.  It  would  be  awful  to 
be  out  of  sympathy  with  one's  fellow-creatures,  and  have  them 
look  suspiciously  at  one  ;  and  it  would  be  no  comfort  to  me  to 
know  that  want  of  sympathy  is  the  proof  of  a  narrow  nature, 
and  that  suspicion  is  the  inevitable  outcome  of  ignorance  and 
stupidity.  I  don't  want  to  despise  my  fellow-creatures.  I 
would  rather  share  their  ignorance  and  conceit  and  be  sociable 
than  find  myself  isolated  even  by  a  very  real  superiority.  The 
one  would  be  pleasant  enough,  I  should  think  ;  the  other  pain 
beyond  all  bearing  of  it." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg's  heart  contracted  with  a  momentary  fear 
for  her  niece,  but  she  dismissed  it  promptly. 

**  The  room  to  yourself  has  been  a  doubtful  advantage,  I 
fancy/'  she  said.  "  It  has  made  you  theoretical.  But  you  will 
lose  all  that  by  and  by.  And  in  the  meantime,  you  must 
remember  that  in  such  matters  we  have  small  choice.  We  are 
born  with  superior  or  inferior  faculties,  and  must  make  use  of 
them,  such  as  they  are,  to  become  inferior  cooks  or  countesses 
or  superior  ditto,  as  the  case  may  be.  But  there  are  always 
plenty  of  one's  own  kind,  whichever  it  is,  to  consort  with. 
Birds  of  a  feather,  you  know.  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  being 
isolated." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  ordinary  faculties,  auntie.  I  was  think 
ing  of  extraordinary.  But  even  with  ordinary  ones  we  are 
hampered.  Birds  of  a  feather  would  flock  together  if  they 
could,  of  course,  but  then  they  can't  always  ;  and  suppose, 
being  superior,  you  find  yourself  forced  to  associate  with  infe- 
rio/  cooks  of  your  kind,  what  then  ?" 

"  Be  their  queen." 

"  Which,  unless  you  were  a  queen  of  hearts,  would  really 
amount  to  being  an  object  of  envy  and  dislike,  and  that  brings 
us  back  to  the  point  from  which  we  started." 

'"  Evadne,  you  talk  like  a  book  ;  go  to  bed  ! "  Mrs.  Orton 
Beg  exclaimed,  laughing. 

"It  is  you  who  have  made  me  talk,  then,"  Evadne  rejoined 
promptly,  "  and  I  feel  inclined  to  ask  now,  with  all  proper 
respect,  what  has  come  to  you  ?  It  must  be  the  prince  I " 


38  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

41  Yes,  it  must  be  the  prince  !  "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  responded, 
raising  her  slender  white  hand  to  smother  a  yawn.  "  And  it 
must  be  good-night,  too — or  rather,  good-morning  !  Just  look 
at  the  clock.  It  is  nearly  three." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

next  morning  all  the  guests  left  Fraylingay,  and  the 
1  family  there  settled  into  their  accustomed  grooves. 
Evadne  and  her  father  walked  and  rode,  conversing  together 
as  usual,  he  enjoying  the  roll  and  rumble  and  fine  flavour  of  his 
own  phrase-making  amazingly,  and  she  also  impressed  by  the 
roll  and  rumble.  But  when  it  was  all  over,  and  he  had  marched 
off  in  triumph,  she  would  collect  the  mutilated  remains  of  the 
argument  and  examine  them  at  her  leisure,  and  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten  it  proved  to  be  quartz  that  he  had  crushed  and  con 
temned,  overlooking  the  gold  it  contained,  but  releasing  it  for 
her  to  find  and  add  exultingly  to  her  own  collection.  In  this 
way,  therefore,  she  continued  to  obtain  her  wealth  of  ore  from 
him,  and  both  were  satisfied — he  because  he  was  sure  that, 
thanks  to  him,  she  was  "  a  thoroughly  sensible  girl  with  no  non 
sense  of  new-fangled  notions  about  her  "  ;  and  she  because, 
being  his  daughter,  she  had  not  altogether  escaped  the  form  of 
mental  myopia  from  which  he  suffered,  and  was  in  the  habit  of 
seeing  only  what  she  hoped  and  wished  to  see  in  those  she 
loved.  Man,  the  unjust  and  iniquitous,  was  to  her  always  the 
outside,  vague,  theoretical  man  of  the  world,  never  the  dear 
undoubted  papa  at  home. 

Evadne  was  the  eldest  of  six  girls,  and  their  mother  had  a 
comfortable  as-it-was-in-the-beginning-is-now-and-ever-shall-be 
feeling  about  them  all  ;  but  she  prided  herself  most  upon 
Evadne  as  answering  in  every  particular  to  the  conventional 
idea  of  what  a  young  lady  should  be. 

'*  The  dear  child,"  she  wrote  to  Lady  Adeline,  "  is  all  and 
more  than  we  dared  to  hope  to  have  her  become.  I  can 
assure  you  she  has  never  caused  me  a  moment's  anxiety  in  her 
life,  except,  of  course,  such  anxiety  for  her  health  and  happi 
ness  as  every  mother  must  feel.  I  have  had  her  educated  with 
the  utmost  care,  and  her  father  has,  I  may  say,  devoted  himself 
to  the  task  of  influencing  her  in  the  right  direction  in  matters 
of  opinion,  and  has  ably  seconded  all  my  endeavours  in  other 
respects.  She  speaks  French  and  German  well,  and  knows  a 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS.  39 

little  Italian  ;  in  fact,  I  may  say  that  she  has  a  special  aptitude 
for  languages  She  does  not  draw,  but  is  a  fair  musician,  and 
is  still  having  lessons,  being  most  anxious  to  improve  herself ; 
and  she  sings  very  sweetly.  But,  best  of  all,  as  I  am  sure  you 
will  agree  with  me,  I  notice  in  her  a  deeply  religious  dis 
position.  She  is  really  devout,  and  beautifully  reverential  in 
her  manner  both  in  church  and  to  us,  her  parents,  and,  indeed, 
to  all  who  are  older  and  wiser  than  herself.  She  is  very  clever 
too,  they  tell  me  ;  but  of  course  I  am  no  judge  of  that.  I  do 
know,  however,  that  she  is  perfectly  innocent,  and  I  am  indeed 
thankful  to  think  that  at  eighteen  she  knows  nothing  of  the 
world  and  its  wickedness,  and  is  therefore  eminently  quali 
fied  to  make  somebody  an  excellent  wife  ;  and  all  I  am  afraid 
of  is  that  the  destined  somebody  will  come  for  her  all  too  soon, 
for  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  parting  with  her.  She  is  not  quite  ^ 
like  other  girls  in  some  things,  I  am  afraid — mere  trifles,  how 
ever — as,  for  instance,  about  her  presentation.  I  know  /  was  in 
quite  a  flutter  of  excitement  for  days  before  /  was  presented, 
and  was  quite  bewildered  with  agitation  at  the  time  ;  but 
Evadne  displayed  no  emotion  whatever.  I  never  knew  anyone 
so  equable  as  she  is  ;  in  fact,  nothing  seems  to  ruffle  her  won 
derful  calm  ;  it  is  almost  provoking  sometimes  !  On  the  way 
home  she  would  not  have  made  a  remark,  I  think,  if  I  had  not 
spoken  to  her.  *  Don't  you  think  it  was  a  very  pretty  sight  ? ' 
I  said  at  last.  *  Yes,'  she  answered  doubtfully  ;  and  then  she 
added  with  genuine  feeling  :  '  Mais  il  y  a  des  longuers  /  Oh, 
mother,  the  hours  we  have  spent  hanging  about  draughty  corri 
dors,  half  dressed  and  shivering  with  cold  ;  and  the  crowding 
and  crushing,  and  unlovely  faces,  all  looking  so  miserable  and 
showing  the  discomfort  and  fatigue  they  were  enduring  so 
plainly !  I  call  it  positive  suffering,  and  I  never  want  to  see 
another  Drawing  Room.  My  soul  desires  nothing  now  but 
decent  clothing  and  hot  tea.'  And  that  is  all  she  has  ever  said 
about  the  Drawing  Room  in  my  hearing.  But  wasn't  it  a  very 
curious  view  for  a  girl  to  take  ?  Of  course  the  arrangements 
are  detestable,  and  one  does  suffer  a  great  deal  from  cold  and 
fatigue,  and  for  want  of  refreshments  ;  but  still  /  never  thought 
of  those  things  when  /  was  a  girl ;  did  you  ?  I  never  thought  of 
anything,  in  fact,  but  whether  I  was  looking  my  best  or  not. 
Don't  let  me  make  you  imagine,  however,  that  Evadne  was 
whining  and  querulous.  She  never  is,  you  know  ;  and  I  should 
call  her  tone  sorrowful  if  it  were  not  so  absurd  for  a  girl  to  be 
saddened  by  tho  sight  of  other  people  in  distress — well,  not 


40  THE  HEAVENLY    TWIN'S. 

quite  in  distress — that  is  an  exaggeration— but  at  all  events  not 
quite  comfortably  situated — on  what  was  really  one  of  the 
greatest  occasions  of  her  own  life.  I  am  half  inclined  to  fear 
that  she  may  not  be  quite  so  strong  as  we  have  always  thought 
her,  and  that  she  was  depressed  by  the  long  fasting  and  fatigue, 
which  would  account  for  a  momentary  morbidness. 

"  But  excuse  my  garrulity.  I  always  have  so  much  to  say  to 
you  !  I  will  spare  you  any  more  for  the  present,  however  ;  only 
do  tell  me  all  about  .yourself  and  your  own  lovely  children. 
And  how  is  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  ?  Remember  that  you  are  to 
come  to  us,  twins  and  all,  on  your  way  home  as  usual  this  year. 
We  are  anxiously  expecting  you,  and  I  hope  your  next  letter 
will  fix  the  day. 

"  Ever,  dear  Adeline,  your  loving  friend, 

"  ELIZABETH  FRAYLING. 

"  P.  S. — We  return  to  Fraylingay  to-morrow,  so  please  write 
to  me  there." 

The  following  is  Lady  Adeline's  reply  to  Mrs.  Frayling's 
letter  : 

"  HAMILTON  HOUSE,  MORNINGQUEST,  soth  July. 
"My  DEAR  ELIZABETH  : 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  been  wondering  what  has  become 
of  us,  but  I  know  you  will  acquit  me  of  all  blame  for  the  long 
delay  in  answering  your  letter  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  only 
just  received  it  !  We  had  left  Paris  before  it  arrived  for  (what 
is  always  to  me)  a  tiresome  tour  about  the  continent,  and  it 
has  been  following  us  from  pillar  to  post,  finally  reaching  me 
here  at  home,  where  we  have  been  settled  a  fortnight.  I  had 
not  forgotten  your  kind  invitation,  but  I  am  afraid  I  must  give 
up  all  idea  of  going  to  you  this  year.  We  hurried  back  because 
Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  became  homesick  suddenly  while  we  were 
abroad,  and  I  don't  think  it  will  be  possible  to  get  him  to  move 
again  for  some  time.  But  won't  you  come  to  us  ?  Do,  dear, 
and  bring  your  just-come-out,  and,  I  am  sure,  most  charming, 
Evadne  for  our  autumn  gayeties.  If  Mr.  Frayling  would  come 
too  we  should  be  delighted,  but  I  know  he  has  a  poor  opinion 
of  our  coverts,  and  I  despair  of  being  able  to  tempt  him  from 
his  own  shooting  ;  and  therefore  I  ask  you  first  and  foremost, 
in  the  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  come  whether  he  does  or 
not. 

"I  have  been  thinking  much  of  all  you  have  told  me  about 
Evadne.  She  had  already  struck  me  as  being  a  most  interesting 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  41 

child  and  full  of  promise,  and  I  do  hope  that  now  she  is  out  of 
the  schoolroom  I  shall  see  more  of  her.  I  know  you  will  trust 
her  to  me — although  I  do  think  that  in  parts  of  her  education 
you  have  been  acting  by  the  half  light  of  a  past  time,  and  fol 
lowing  a  method  now  out  of  date.  I  cannot  agree,  for  instance, 
that  it  is  either  right  or  wise  to  keep  a  girl  in  ignorance  of  the 
laws  of  her  own  being,  and  of  the  state  of  the  community  in 
which  she  will  have  to  pass  her  existence.  While  she  is  at  an 
age  to  be  influenced  in  the  right  way  she  should  be  fully  in 
structed,  by  those  she  loves,  and  not  left  to  obtain  her  knowl 
edge  of  the  world  haphazard  from  anyone  with  whom  accident 
may  bring  her  acquainted — people,  perhaps,  whose  point  of 
view  may  not  only  differ  materially  from  her  parents',  but  be 
extremely  offensive  to  them.  The  first  impression  in  these  mat 
ters,  you  know,  is  all  important,  and  my  experience  is  that  what 
you  call '  beautiful  innocence,*  and  what  I  consider  dangerous 
ignorance,  is  not  a  safe  state  in  which  to  begin  the  battle  of  life. 
In  the  matter  of  marriage  especially  an  ignorant  girl  may  be 
fatally  deceived,  and  indeed  I  know  cases  in  which  the  man 
who  was  liked  well  enough  as  a  companion  was  found  to  be 
objectionable  in  an  unendurable  degree  as  soon  as  he  became 
a  husband. 

"  You  will  think  I  am  tainted  with  new  notions,  and  I  do 
hope  I  am  in  so  far  as  these  notions  are  juster  and  better  than 
the  old  ones.  For,  surely,  the  elder  ages  did  not  discover  all 
that  is  wisdom  ;  and  certainly  there  is  still  room  for  *  nobler 
modes  of  life*  and  *  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws.'  If  this  were 
not  allowed  moral  progress  must  come  to  a  standstill.  So  I 
say,  *  instruct !  instruct  ! '  The  knowledge  must  come  sooner 
or  later ;  let  it  come  wholesomely.  A  girl  must  find  out  for 
herself  if  she  is  not  taught,  and  she  may,  in  these  plain-spoken 
times,  obtain  a  wholly  erroneous  theory  of  life  and  morality 
from  a  newspaper  report  which  she  reads  without  intention  in 
an  idle  moment  while  enjoying  her  afternoon  tea.  We  are  in 
a  state  of  transition,  we  women,  and  the  air  is  so  full  of  ideas 
that  it  would  be  strange  if  an  active  mind  did  not  catch  some 
of  them  ;  and  I  find  myself  that  stray  theories  swallowed  whole 
without  due  consideration  are  of  uncertain  application,  difficult 
in  the  working,  if  not  impracticable,  and  apt  to  disagree. 
Theories  should  be  absorbed  in  detail  as  dinner  is  if  they  are  to 
become  an  addition  to  our  strength,  and  not  an  indigestible 
item  of  inconvenience,  seriously  affecting  our  mental  temper. 

"  But  you  ask  me  about  my  twins.      In  health  they  continue 


42  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS 

splendid,  in  spirits  they  are  tremendous,  but  their  tricks  are 
simply  terrible.  We  never  know  what  mischief  they  will  devise 
next,  and  Angelica  is  much  the  worst  of  the  two.  If  we  had 
taken  them  to  Fraylingay  it  would  have  been  in  fear  and 
trembling  ;  but  we  should  have  been  obliged  to  take  them  had 
we  gone  ourselves,  for  they  somehow  found  out  that  you  had 
asked  them,  and  they  insisted  upon  going,  and  threatened  to 
burn  down  Hamilton  House  in  our  absence  if  we  did  not  take 
them,  a  feat  which  we  doubt  not  they  would  have  accomplished 
had  they  had  a  mind  to.  Indeed,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  these 
children  are  !  Imagine  their  last  device  to  extort  concessions 
from  their  father.  You  know  how  nervous  he  is  ;  well,  if  he 
will  not  do  all  that  they  require  of  him  they  blow  him  up  liter 
ally  and  actually  !  They  put  little  trains  of  gunpowder  about 
in  unexpected  places,  with  lucifer  matches  that  go  off  when 
they  are  trodden  upon,  and  you  can  imagine  the  consequence  ! 
I  told  him  what  it  would  be  when  he  would  spoil  them  so,  but 
it  was  no  use,  and  now  they  rule  him  instead  of  him  them,  so 
that  he  has  to  enter  into  solemn  compacts  with  them  about 
not  infringing  what  they  call  their  rights  ;  and,  only  fancy,  he 
is  so  fond  to  foolishness  as  to  be  less  annoyed  by  their  naughti 
ness  than  pleased  because,  when  they  promise  not  to  do  any 
thing  again  '  honest  Injun,'  as  they  phrase  it,  they  keep  their 
word.  Dr.  Galbraith  calls  them  in  derision  *  The  Heavenly 
Twins/ 

"  But  have  I  told  you  about  Dr.  Galbraith  ?  He  is  the  new 
master  of  Fountain  Towers,  and  a  charming  as  well  as  remark 
able  man,  quite  young,  being  in  fact  only  nine-and-twenty,  but 
already  distinguished  as  a  medical  man.  He  became  a  profes 
sional  man  of  necessity,  having  no  expectation  at  that  time  of 
ever  inheriting  property,  but  now  that  he  is  comparatively 
speaking  a  rich  man  he  continues  to  practice  for  the  love  of 
science,  and  also  from  philanthropic  motives.  He  is  a  fine  look 
ing  young  man  physically,  with  a  strong  face  of  most  attract 
ive  plainness,  only  redeemed  from  positive  ugliness,  in  fact,  by 
good  gray  eyes,  white  teeth,  and  an  expression  which  makes  you 
trust  him  at  once.  After  the  first  five  minutes'  conversation  with 
him  I  have  heard  people  say  that  they  not  only  could  but  would 
positively  have  enjoyed  telling  him  all  the  things  that  ever  they 
did,  so  great  is  the  confidence  he  inspires.  He,  and  Sir  Daniel 
Galbraith's  adopted  son — Sir  Daniel  is  Dr.  Galbraith's  uncle — 
were  my  brother  Dawne's  great  friends  at  Oxford,  where  the 
three  of  them  were  known  as  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego, 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 


43 


because  they  passed  unscathed  through  the  burning  fiery 
furnace  of  temptation  to  which  young  men  of  position  at  the 
universities  are  exposed.  Dr.  Galbraith  is  somewhat  abrupt 
in  manner,  and  quick  of  temper,  but  most  good-naturedly  long- 
suffering  with  my  terrible  children  nevertheless.  Of  course 
they  impose  upon  his  good  nature.  And  they  are  always  being 
punished  ;  but  that  they  do  not  mind.  In  fact,  I  heard 
Angelica  say  once  :  *  It  is  all  in  the  day's  work,'  when  she  had 
a  long  imposition  to  do  for  something  outrageous  ;  and  Diavolo 
called  to  her  over  the  stairs  only  yesterday,  'Wait  for  me  a 
minute  in  the  hall  till  I've  been  thrashed  for  letting  the  horses 
and  dogs  loose,  and  then  we'll  go  and  snare  pheasants  in  the 
far  plantation ! '  They  explained  to  me  once  that  being  found 
out  and  punished  added  the  same  zest  to  their  pleasures  that 
cayenne  pepper  does  to  their  diet  ;  a  little  too  much  of  it 
stings,  but  just  the  right  quantity  relieves  the  insipidity  and 
adds  to  the  interest  ;  and  then  there  is  the  element  of  uncer 
tainty,  which  has  a  charm  of  its  own  :  they  never  know  whether 
they  will  *  catch  it  hot '  or  not  !  When  they  are  found  out 
they  always  confess  everything  with  a  frankness  which  is  quite 
provoking,  because  they  so  evidently  enjoy  the  recital  of  their 
own  misdeeds  ;  and  they  defend  themselves  by  quoting  various 
anecdotes  of  the  naughty  doings  of  children  which  have  been 
written  for  our  amusement.  And  it  is  in  vain  that  I  explain 
to  them  that  parents  who  are  hurt  and  made  anxious  by  their 
children's  disobedience  cannot  see  anything  to  laugh  at  in 
their  pranks — at  least  not  for  a  very  long  time  afterward. 
They  pondered  this  for  some  time,  and  then  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  when  they  were  grown  up  and  no  longer  a 
nuisance  to  me,  I  should  be  a  '  very  jolly  old  lady,*  because  I 
should  have  such  a  lot  of  funny  stories  all  my  own  to  tell 
people. 

"But  I  shall  weary  you  with  this  inexhaustible  subject. 
You  must  forgive  me  if  I  do,  for  I  am  terribly  anxious  about 
my  young  Turks.  If  they  are  equal  to  such  enormities  in  the 
green  leaf,  I  am  always  asking  myself,  what  will  they  do  in  the 
dry  ?  I  own  that  my  sense  of  humour  is  tickled  sometimes, 
but  never  enough  to  make  me  forget  the  sense  of  danger,  pres 
ent  and  to  come,  which  all  this  keeps  forever  alive.  Come 
and  comfort  me,  and  tell  me  how  you  have  made  your  own 
children  so  charming. 

"^Ever  lovingly  yours, 

"  ADELINE  HAMILTON-WELLS." 


44  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Mrs.  Frayling  wrote  a  full  account  of  Evadne's  presentation 
at  court  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Orton  Beg — who  was  wandering 
about  Norway  by  herself  at  the  time — and  concluded  her  de 
scription  of  the  dear  child's  gown,  very  charming  appearance, 
and  dignified  self-possession  with  some  remarks  about  her 
character  to  the  same  effect  as  those  which  she  had  addressed 
to  Lady  Adeline.  It  was  natural,  perhaps,  that  the  last  con 
versation  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  had  had  with  Evadne  at  Fraylingay, 
which  was  in  fact  the  first  articulate  outcome  of  Evadne's  self- 
training,  coming  as  it  did  at  the  end  of  a  day  of  pleasurable 
interest  and  excitement,  should  have  made  no  immediate  im 
pression  upon  her  tired  faculties  ;  but  she  recollected  it  now 
and  smiled  as  she  read  her  sister's  letter.  "  If  that  is  all  you 
know  of  your  daughter,  my  dear  Elizabeth,"  was  her  mental 
comment,  "  I  fancy  there  will  be  surprises  at  Fraylingay  !  " 
But  in  reply  she  merely  observed  that  she  was  glad  Evadne 
was  so  satisfactory.  She  was  too  wise  a  woman  to  waste  words 
on  her  sister  Elizabeth,  who,  in  consequence  of  having  had 
them  in  abundance  to  squander  all  her  life  long,  had  lost  all 
sense  of  their  value,  and  would  have  failed  to  appreciate  the 
force  which  they  collect  in  the  careful  keeping  of  such  silent 
folk  as  Mrs.  Orton  Beg. 

Mrs.  Frayling  was  not  able  to  accept  Lady  Adeline's  invita- 
tain  that  year. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THIS  was  the  period  when  Evadne  looked  out  of  narrow 
eyes  at  an  untried  world  inquiringly,  and  was  warmed  to 
the  heart  by  what  she  saw  of  it.  Theoretically,  people  are 
cruel  and  unjust,  but  practically,  to  an  attractive  young  lady  of 
good  social  position  and  just  out,  their  manners  are  most  agree 
able  ;  and  when  Evadne  returned  to  Fraylingay  after  her  first 
season  in  town,  she  thought  less  and  sang  more. 

"  A  little  bird  in  the  air, 
Is  singing  of  Thyri  the  fair, 

The  sister  of  Svend  the  Dane  ; 
And  the  song  of  the  garrulous  bird 
In  the  streets  of  the   town  is  heard, 

And  repeated  again  and  again," 

she  carolled  about  the  house,  while  the  dust  collected  upon 
her  books.     She  took  up  one  old  favourite  after  another  when 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  45 

she  first  returned,  but  her  attention  wandered  from  her  best 
beloved,  and  all  that  were  solid  came  somehow  to  be  set  aside 
and  replaced,  the  nourishing  fact  by  inflated  fiction,  reason 
and  logic  by  rhyme  and  rhythm,  and  sense  by  sentimentality, 
so  far  had  her  strong,  simple,  earnest  mind  deteriorated  in  the 
unwholesome  atmosphere  of  London  drawing  rooms.  It  was 
only  a  phase,  of  course,  and  she  could  have  been  set  right  at 
once  had  there  been  anybody  there  to  prescribe  a  strengthen 
ing  tonic  ;  but  failing  that,  she  tried  sweet  stimulants  that 
soothed  and  excited,  but  did  not  nourish  :  tales  that  caused 
chords  of  pleasurable  emotion  to  vibrate  while  they  fanned 
the  higher  faculties  into  inaction — vampire  things  inducing  . 
that  fatal  repose  which  enables  them  to  drain  the  soul  of  its  * 
life  blood  and  compass  its  destruction.  But  Evadne  escaped 
without  permanent  injury,  for,  fortunately  for  herself,  among 
much  that  was  far  too  sweet  to  be  wholesome  she  discovered 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes'  "  The  Breakfast  Table  Aeries,"  "  Elsie 
Venner,"and  "  The  Guardian  Angel"  and  was  insensibly  fixed 
in  her  rightful  place  and  sustained  by  them. 

The  sun  streaming  into  her  room  one  morning  at  this  time 
awoke  her  early  and  tempted  her  up  and  out.  There  was  a 
sandy  space  beyond  the  grounds,  a  long  level  of  her  father's 
land  extending  to  the  eastern  cliffs,  and  considered  barren  by 
him,  but  rich  with  a  certain  beauty  of  its  own,  the  beauty  of 
open  spaces  which  rest  and  relieve  the  mind  ;  and  of  immensity 
in  the  shining  sea-line  beyond  the  cliffs,  and  the  arching  vault 
of  the  sky  overhead  dipping  down  to  encircle  the  earth  ;  and  of 
colour  for  all  moods,  from  the  vividest  green  of  grass  and  yellow 
of  gorse  to  the  amethyst  ling,  and  the  browns  with  which  the 
waning  year  tipped  every  bush  and  bramble — things  which, 
when  properly  appreciated,  make  life  worth  living.  It  was  in 
this  direction  that  Evadne  walked,  taking  it  without  design, 
but  drawn  insensibly  as  by  a  magnet  to  the  sea. 

She  had  thought  herself  early  up,  but  the  whole  wild  world 
of  the  heath  was  before  her,  and  she  began  to  feel  belated  as 
she  went.  There  was  a  suspicion  of  frost  in  the  air  which 
made  it  deliciously  fresh  and  exhilarating.  The  early  morning 
mists  still  hung  about,  but  the  sun  was  brightly  busy  dispelling 
them.  The  rabbits  were  tripping  hither  and  thither,  too  intent 
on  their  own  business  to  pay  much  heed  to  Evadne.  A  bird 
sprang  up  from  her  feet,  and  soared  out  of  sight,  and  she 
paused  a  moment  with  upturned  face,  dilated  eyes,  and  lips 
apart,  to  watch  him.  But  a  glimpse  of  the  gorse  recalled  her, 


46  THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

and  she  picked  some  yellow  blooms  with  delicate  finger  tips,  and 
carried  them  in  her  bare  hand  savouring  the  scent,  and  at  the 
same  time  looking  and  listening  with  an  involuntary  straining 
to  enjoy  the  perception  of  each  separate  delicate  delight  at 
once,  till  presently  the  enthusiasm  of  nature  called  forth  some 
further  faculty,  and  she  found  herself  sensible  of  every  tint 
and  tone,  sight  and  sound,  distinguishing,  deciphering,  but  yet 
perceiving  all  together  as  the  trained  ear  of  a  musician  does 
the  parts  played  by  every  instrument  in  an  orchestra,  and 
takes  cognizance  of  the  whole  effect  as  well. 

At  the  end  of  the  waste  there  was  a  little  church  overlook 
ing  the  sea.  She  saw  that  the  door  was  open  as  she 
approached  it,  and  she  paused  to  look  in.  The  early  week 
day  service  was  in  progress.  A  few  quiet  figures  sat  apart  in 
the  pews.  The  light  was  subdued.  Something  was  being 
read  aloud  by  a  voice  of  caressing  quality  and  musical.  She 
did  not  attend  to  the  words,  but  the  tone  satisfied.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  the  peace  of  God  invited,  and  she  slipped  into  the 
nearest  pew.  She  found  a  Bible  on  the  seat  beside  her,  and 
opening  it  haphazard  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  words  : 

"  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do  business  in 
great  waters  ;  these  see  the  works  of  the  Lord,  and  his  wonders 
in  the  deep." 

The  lap  of  the  little  waves  on  the  beach  below  was  dis 
tinctly  audible,  the  bird  calls,  and  their  twitterings,  intermit 
tent,  incessant,  persistent,  came  close  and  departed  ;  and  the 
fragrance  of  the  blossoms,  crushed  in  her  hand,  rose  to  remind 
her  they  were  there. 

"  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships." 

It  was  a  passage  to  be  felt  at  the  moment  with  the  sea  itself 
so  near,  and  as  she  paused  to  ponder  it  her  mind  attuned 
itself  involuntarily  to  the  habit  of  holy  thought  associated  with 
the  place,  while  the  scents  and  sounds  of  nature  streamed  in 
upon  her,  forming  now  a  soft  undercurrent,  now  a  delicious 
accompaniment  which  filled  the  interval  between  what  she 
knew  of  this  Tvorld  and  all  that  she  dreamt  of  the  next.  The 
cycle  of  sensation  was  complete,  and  in  a  moment  her  whole 
being  blossomed  into  gladness.  Her  intellectual  activity  was 
suspended — her  senses  awoke.  It  was  the  morning  of  life 
with  her,  and  she  sank  upon  her  knees,  and  lifted  up  her  heart 
to  express  the  joy  of  it  in  one  ecstatic  note : "  O  blessed 
Lordr 

Lord  of  the  happy  earth  !  Lord  of  the  sun  and  our  senses., 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  47 

He  who  comes  to  us  first  in  Love's  name,  and  bids  us  rejoice 
and  be  glad  ;  not  he  who  would  have  us  mourn. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  FTER  the  experiences  of  that  early  morning's  walk 
J\  Evadne  did  not  go  to  bed  so  late  ;  she  got  up  early  and 
went  to  church.  The  agreeable  working  of  her  intellectual 
faculties  during  the  early  part  of  her  absorbing  self-education 
had  kept  her  senses  in  abeyance  ;  but  when  the  discipline  of 
all  regular  routine  was  relaxed,  they  were  set  free  to  get  the 
upper  hand  if  they  would,  and  now  they  had  begun  to  have  their 
way — a  delicate,  dreamy  way,  of  a  surety,  but  it  was  a  sensuous 
way  nevertheless,  and  not  at  all  a  spiritual  way,  as  her  mother 
maintained  it  to  be,  because  of  the  church-going.  Sometimes 
sense,  sometimes  intellect,  is  the  first  to  awake  in  us — supposing 
we  are  dowered  with  an  intellect  ;  but  pain,  which  is  the  per 
fecting  of  our  nature,  must  precede  the  soul's  awakening,  and 
for  Evadne  at  that  age,  with  her  limited  personal  knowledge 
of  life  and  scant  experience  of  every  form  of  human  emotion 
which  involves  suffering,  such  an  awakening  was  impossible. 
The  first  feeling  of  a  girl  as  happily  situated,  healthy-minded, 
and  physically  strong  as  she  was  is  bound  to  be  pleasurable  ; 
and  had  she  been  a  young  man  at  this  time  she  would  not 
improbably  have  sought  to  heighten  and  vary  her  sensations 
by  adding  greater  quantities  of  alcohol  to  her  daily  diet  ;  she 
would  have  grown  coarse  of  skin  by  eating  more  than  she 
could  assimilate  ;  she  would  have  smelt  strongly  enough  of 
tobacco,  as  a  rule,  to  try  the  endurance  of  a  barmaid  ;  she 
would  have  been  anxious  about  the  fit  of  coats,  fastidious  as 
to  the  choice  of  ties,  quite  impossible  in  the  matter  of  trousers, 
and  prone  to  regard  her  own  image  in  the  glass  caressingly. 
She  would  have  considered  that  every  petticoat  held  a  divinity, 
or  every  woman  had  her  price  according  to  the  direction  in 
which  nature  had  limited  her  powers  of  perception  with  a 
view  to  the  final  making  of  her  into  a  sentimental  or  a  vicious 
fool.  When  she  should  have  been  hard  at  work  she  would 
have  stayed  in  bed  in  the  morning  flattering  her  imagination 
with  visions  of  the  peerless  beauties  who  would  all  adore  her, 
and  the  proud  place  she  would  conquer  in  the  world  ;  and  she 
would  have  gone  girl-stalking  in  earnest— -probably — had  she 
been  a  young  man.  But  being  as  she  was,  she  got  up  early 


4  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

and  went  to  church.  It  was  the  one  way  she  had  of  express 
ing  the  silent  joy  of  her  being,  and  of  intensifying  it.  She 
practised  an  extreme  ritual  at  this  time,  and  found  in  it  the 
most  complete  form  of  expression  for  her  mood  possible. 
And  in  those  early  morning  walks  when  she  brushed  the  dew- 
bespangled  cobwebs  from  the  gorse,  and  startled  the  twitter 
ing  birds  from  their  morning  meal — in  the  caressing  of 
healthy  odours,  the  uplifting  of  all  sweet  natural  sounds,  the 
soothing  of  the  great  sea-voice,  the  sense  of  infinity  in  the 
level  la-ndscape,  of  beauty  in  form  and  colour,  of  rest  and  peace 
in  the  grateful  shadow  of  the  little  church  on  the  cliff,  but, 
above  all,  in  the  release  from  mental  tension,  and  the  ease  of 
feeling  after  the  strain  of  thought,  she  found  the  highest  form 
of  pleasure  she  had  tasted,  the  most  rarefied,  the  most  intense. 
The  St.  Valentine's  Day  of  her  development  was  approaching, 
and  her  heart  had  begun  already  to  practise  the  notes  of  the 
song-significant  into  which  she  would  burst  when  it  came. 

It  is  a  nice  question  that,  as  to  where  the  sensuous  ends, 
..  and  the  spiritual  begins.  The  dovetail  is  so  exact  just  at  the 
junction  that  it  is  impossible  to  determine,  and  it  is  there  that 
"  spirit  and  flesh  grow  one  with  delight "  on  occasion  ;  but  the 
test  of  the  spiritual  lies  in  its  continuity.  Pleasures  of  the 
senses  pall  upon  repetition,  but  pleasures  of  the  soul  continue 
and  increase.  A  delicate  dish  soon  wearies  the  palate,  but 
the  power  to  appreciate  a  poem  or  a  picture  grows  greater 
the  more  we  study  them — illustrations  as  trite,  by  the  way, 
its  those  of  the  average  divine  in  his  weekly  sermon,  but  cal 
culated  to  comfort  to  the  same  extent  in  that  they  possess  the 
charm  of  familiarity  which  satisfies  self-love  by  proving  that 
we  know  quite  as  much  of  some  subjects  as  those  who  pro 
fess  to  teach  them.  Still,  a  happy  condition  of  the  senses 
may  easily  be  mistaken  for  a  great  outpouring  of  spiritual 
enthusiasm,  and  many  an  inspiring  soul  unconsciously  stimu 
lates  them  in  ways  less  pardonable  perhaps  than  the  legitimate 
joy  of  a  good  dinner  to  a  hungry  man,  or  the  more  subtle 
pleasure  which  a  refined  woman  experiences  while  sharing 
the  communion  of  well-dressed  saints  on  a  cushioned  seat, 
listening  to  exquisite  music  in  a  fashionable  church.  Sensa 
tions  of  gladness  send  some  people  to  church  whom  grief  of 
any  kind  would  drive  from  thence  effectually.  It  is  a  matter 
of  temperament.  There  are  those  who  are  by  nature  grate 
ful  for  every  good  gift,  who  even  bow  their  heads  and  suffer 
meekly  if  they  perceive  that  they  will  have  their  reward,  but 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  49 

are  ready  to  rebel  with  rage  against  any  form  of  ineffectual 
pain.  This  was  likely  to  be  Evadne's  case.  Yet  her  mother 
had  been  right  about  her  having  a  deeply  religious  disposition. 
The  vicar  in  charge  of  the  church  on  the  cliff — he  of  the 
musical  voice,  Mr.  Borthwick  by  name — became  aware  at  once 
of  Evadne's  regular  attendance.  He  was  a  young  man,  very 
earnest,  very  devout,  worn  thin  with  hard  work,  but  happy  in 
that  he  had  it  to  do,  and  with  that  serene  expression  of  counte 
nance  which  comes  of  the  habit  of  conscientious  endeavour. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  with  such  men  at  the  present  time,  he 
sought  solace  in  ritual.  His  whole  nature  thrilled  to  the  roll 
of  the  organ,  to  the  notes  of  a  grateful  anthem,  to  the  sight  and 
scent  of  his  beautiful  flowers  on  the  altar,  and  to  the  harmony 
of  colour  and  conventional  design  on  the  walls  of  his  little 
church.  He  spent  his  life  and  his  substance  upon  it,  doing 
what  he  could  to  beautify  it  himself,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
and  finding  in  the  act  of  worship  a  refinement  of  pleasure  diffi 
cult  of  attainment,  but  possible  and  precious.  And  while  all 
that  sufficed  for  him,  he  honestly  entertained  the  idea  of  celi 
bacy  as  a  condition  necessary  for  the  perfect  purification  of 
his  own  soul,  and  desirable  as  giving  him  a  place  apart  which 
would  help  to  maintain  and  strengthen  his  influence  with  his 
people.  A  layman  may  remain  a  bachelor  without  attracting 
attention,  but  a  priest  who  abjures  matrimony  insists  that  he 
makes  a  sacrifice,  and  deserves  credit  for  the  same.  He  says 
that  the  laws  of  nature  are  the  laws  of  God,  yet  arranges  his 
own  life  in  direct  opposition  to  the  greatest  of  them.  He  can 
give  no  unanswerable  reason  for  maintaining  that  the  legitimate 
exercise  of  one  set  of  natural  functions  is  less  holy  than  the 
exercise  of  the  others,  but  that  is  what  he  believes,  and 
curiously  inconsistent  as  the  conclusion  is,  the  Rev.  Henry 
Borthwick  had  adopted  this  view  emphatically  at  the  outset  of 
his  clerical  career,  and  had  announced  his  intention  of  adher 
ing  to  it  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  But,  just  as  the  snow  under 
the  cool  and  quiet  stars  at  dusk  might  feel  full  force  in  itself 
to  vow  to  the  rising  moon  that  it  will  not  melt,  and  find  never 
theless  of  necessity  when  the  sun  appears  that  it  cannot  keep 
its  vow,  so  did  the  idea  of  celibacy  pass  from  the  mind  of  the 
Rev.  Henry  Borthwick  when  Evadne  began  to  attend  his  morn 
ing  services.  Insensibly  his  first  view  of  the  subject  vanished 
altogether,  and  was  immediately  replaced,  first  by  an  uplift 
ing  vision  of  the  advantages  of  having  a  wife's  help  in  the 
parish,  then  by  a  glimpse  of  the  tender  pleasure  of  a  wife's 


50  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

presence  in  the  house  ;  and — extraordinary  as  it  may  seem,  this 
final  thought  occurred  to  him  while  the  Psalms  were  being  sung 
in  church  one  morning,  so  uncertain  is  the  direction  of  man's 
mind  at  any  time — he  even  had  a  vision  of  the  joy  of  a  wife's 
kiss  when  the  sweet  red  lips  that  gave  it  were  curved  like  those 
of  the  girl  before  him.  He  felt  a  great  outpouring  of  spiritual 
grace  during  that  service  ;  his  pov/ers  of  devotion  were  inten 
sified.  But  the  moment  it  was  over.'he  hurried  to  the  vestry, 
tore  off  his  surplice  and  threw  it  on  the  floor,  met  Evadne  as 
she  left  the  church,  and  lingered  long  on  the  cliffs  with  her  in 
earnest  conversation. 

She  was  late  for  breakfast  that  morning,  and  her  mother 
asked  her  what  had  detained  her. 

"  Mr.  Borthwick  was  talking  to  me  about  the  sacraments  of 
the  Church,  mother,"  she  answered,  her  calm  true  eyes  meet 
ing  her  mother's  without  confusion  ;  "  and  about  the  necessity 
for,  and  the  advantage  of,  frequent  communions." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  about  it,  dear  ?" 

"  I  think  I  should  like  it." 

Her  mother  said  no  more.  Young  Borthwick  was  a  cadet 
of  good  family  with  expectations  in  the  way  of  money,  influ 
ence  enough  to  procure  him  a  deanery  at  least,  and  with  a 
reputation  for  ability  which,  with  his  other  advantages, 
gave  him  as  fair  a  prospect  as  anybody  she  knew  of  a  bish 
opric  eventually — just  the  thing  for  Evadne,  she  reflected,  so 
she  did  not  interfere. 

This  was  really  a  happy  time  for  Evadne.  The  young  priest 
frequently  met  her  after  the  early  service,  and  she  liked  his 
devotion.  She  liked  his  clean-featured,  close-shaven  face  too, 
and  his  musical  voice.  He  was  her  perfection  of  a  priest,  and 
when  he  did  not  meet  her  she  missed  him.  She  did  not  care 
for  him  so  much  when  he  called  at  the  house,  however.  She 
associated  him  somehow  with  her  morning  moods,  with  reli 
gious  discourses,and  the  Church  service ;  but  when  he  ventured 
beyond  these  limits,  they  lost  touch,  and  so  she  held  him  down 
to  them  rigorously.  He  tried  to  resist.  He  even  conceived 
a  distaste  for  ecclesiastical  subjects, and  endeavoured  to  float 
her  attention  from  these  on  little  boats  of  fancy  phrases  made 
out  of  the  first  freshness  of  new  days,  the  beauty  of  the  sun 
on  the  sea,  the  jade-green  of  grass  on  the  cliffs,  the  pleasure 
he  took  in  the  songs  of  birds,  and  other  more  mundane  mat 
ters  ;  but  he  lost  her  sympathetic  interest  when  he  did  so, 
receiving  her  polite  attention  instead,  which  was  cold  in  com- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  $1 

parison,  and  therefore  did  not  satisfy  him,  so  he  determined 
to  try  and  come  to  a  perfect  understanding,  and  during  one  of 
their  morning  walks,  he  startled  her  by  making  her  a  solemn 
and  abrupt  offer  of  marriage. 

She  considered  the  proposition  in  silence  for  some  time. 
Then  she  looked  at  him  as  if  she  had  never  seen  him1  before. 
Then  she  said,  not  knowing  she  was  cruel,  and  only  desiring 
to  be  frank  :  "  I  have  never  thought  of  you  as  a  man,  you 
know — only  as  a  priest  ;  and  in  that  character  I  think  you 
perfect.  I  respect  and  reverence  you.  I  even  love  you, 
but " 

"  But  what  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly,  his  delicate  face  flushing, 
his  whole  being  held  in  suspense. 

"  But  I  could  not  marry  a  priest,  It  would  seem  to  be  a 
sort  of  sacrilege." 

She  was  very  pale  when  she  went  in  that  morning,  and  her 
mother  noticed  it,  and  questioned  her. 

"  Mr.  Borthwick  asked  me  to  marry  him,  mother,"  she 
answered  straight  to  the  point,  as  was  her  wont.  "  He  sur 
prised  me." 

"  I  am  not  surprised,  dear,"  her  mother  rejoined,  smiling. 

"  Did  you  suppose  he  would,  mother  ?' 

"  Yes.     I  was  sure  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  had  warned  me  !  * 

"  Then  you  haven't  accepted  him,  Evadne  ?* 

"  No.  I  have  always  understood  that  it  is  not  right  for  a 
priest  to  marry,  and  the  idea  of  marrying  one  repels  me.  He 
has  lowered  himself  in  my  estimation  by  thinking  of  such  a 
thing.  I  could  not  think  of  him  as  I  do  of  other  men.  I 
cannot  dissociate  him  from  his  office.  I  expect  him  somehow 
to  be  always  about  his  reading-desk  and  pulpit.'* 

Mrs.  Frayling's  face  had  fallen,  but  she  only  said  :  "  I  wish 
you  could  have  felt  otherwise,  dear." 

Evadne  went  up  to  her  room,  and  stood  leaning  against  the 
frame  of  the  open  window,  looking  out  over  the  level  land 
scape.  The  poor  priest  had  shown  deep  feeling,  and  it  was 
the  first  she  had  seen  of  such  suffering.  It  pained  her 
terribly. 

She  got  up  early  next  morning,  and  went  out  as  usual  ; 
but  the  scent  of  the  gorse  was  obtrusive,  the  bird-voices  had 
lost  their  charm,  the  far-off  sound  of  the  sea  had  a  new  and 
melancholy  note  in  it,  and  the  little  church  on  the  cliff  looked 
lonely  against  the  sky.  She  could  not  go  there  again  to  be 


5  2  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  TWTNS. 

reminded  of  what  she  would  fain  have  forgotten.  No  ;  that 
phase  was  over.  The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  complete,  and 
to  banish  all  recollection  of  it  she  tried  with  a  will  to  revive 
the  suspended  animation  of  her  interest  in  her  books. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

*  A  LL  excitements  run  to  love  in  women  of  a  certain — let  us 
J[\  not  say  age,  but  youth,"  says  the  professor.  "  An  electri 
cal  current  passing  through  a  coil  of  wire  makes  a  magnet  of  a 
bar  of  iron  lying  within  it,  but  not  touching  it.  So  a  woman 
is  turned  into  a  love-magnet  by  a  tingling  current  of  life  run 
ning  round  her.  I  should  like  to  see  one  of  them  balanced  on 
a  pivot  properly  adjusted,  and  watch  if  she  did  not  turn  so  as 
to  point  north  and  south,  as  she  would  if  the  love-currents  are 
like  those  of  the  earth,  our  mother." 

This  passage  indicates  exactly  the  point  at  which  Evadne 
had  now  arrived,  and  where  she  was  pausing. 

The  attempt  to  return  to  her  books  had  been  far  from  suc 
cessful.  Her  eye  would  traverse  page  after  page  without 
transferring  a  single  record  to  her  brain,  and  she  would  sit 
with  one  open  in  her  lap  by  the  hour  together,  not  absorbed 
in  thought,  but  lost  in  feeling.  She  was  both  g!lad  and  sad  at 
the  same  time,  glad  in  her  youth  and  strength,  and  sad  in  the 
sense  of  something  wanting  ;  what  was  it  ? 

If  she  had — Well  !  She  longed,  and  knew  not  wherefore, 
N  Had  the  world  nothing  she  might  live  to  care  for  ? 

No  second  self  to  say  her  evening  prayer  for  ? 

The  poor  little  bird  loved  the  old  nest,  but  she  had  uncon 
sciously  outgrown  it,  and  was  perplexed  to  find  no  ease  or 
comfort  in  it  any  more. 

She  certainly  entertained  the  idea  of  marriage  at  this  time. 
She  had  acquired  a  sort  of  notion  from  her  friends  that  it  was 
good  to  marry,  and  her  own  inclinations  seconded  the  sug 
gestion.  She  meant  to  marry  when  she  should  find  the  right 
man,  but  the  difficulty  of  choice  disturbed  her.  She  had  still 
much  of  the  spirit  which  made  her  at  twelve  see  nothing  but 
nonsense  in  the  "  Turn,  Gentle  Hermit  of  the  Dale  "  drivel,  and 
she  was  quite  prepared  to  decide  with  her  mind.  She  never 
took  her  heart  into  consideration,  or  the  possibility  of  being 
overcome  by  a  feeling  which  is  stronger  than  reason. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  53 

She  made  her  future  husband  a  subject  of  prayer,  however. 
She  prayed  that  he  might  be  an  upright  man,  that  he  might 
come  to  her  soon ;  she  even  asked  for  some  sign  by  which  she 
should  know  him.  This  was  during  the  morning  service  in 
church  one  Sunday — not  the  little  one  on  the  cliff,  which  was 
only  a  chapel-of-ease  ;  but  the  parish  church  to  which  the 
whole  family  went  regularly.  Her  thoughts  had  wandered 
away,  from  the  lesson  that  was  being  read,  to  this  subject  of 
private  devotion,  and  as  she  formulated  the  desire  for  a  sign, 
for  some  certainty  by  which  she  might  know  tbe  man  whom 
the  dear  Lord  intended  to  be  her  husband,  she  looked  up,  and 
from  the  other  side  of  the  aisle  she  met  a  glance  that  abashed 
her.  She  looked  away,  but  her  eyes  were  drawn  back  inevi 
tably,  and  this  time  the  glance  of  those  other  eyes  enlightened 
her.  Her  heart  bounded — her  face  flushed.  This  was  the 
sign,  she  was  sure  of  it.  She  had  felt  nothing  like  it  before, 
and  although  she  never  raised  her  eyes  again,  she  thrilled 
through  the  rest  of  the  service  to  the  consciousness  that  there, 
not  many  yards  away,  her  future  husband  sat  and  sighed  for 
her. 

After  the  service,  the  subject  of  her  thoughts  claimed  her 
father's  acquaintance,  and  was  introduced  by  him  to  her  as 
Major  Colquhoun.  He  looked  about  thirty-eight,  and  was 
a  big  blond  man,  with  a  heavy  moustache,  and  a  delicate  skin 
that  flushed  easily.  His  hair  was  thin  on  the  forehead  *  in 
a  few  more  years  he  would  be  bald  there. 

Mr.  Frayling  asked  him  to  lunch,  and  Evadne  sat  beside 
him.  She  scarcely  spoke  a  word  the  whole  time,  or  looked  at 
him  ;  but  she  knew  that  he  looked  at  her  ;  and  she  glowed 
and  was  glad.  The  little  church  on  the  cliff  seemed  a  long 
way  off,  and  out  in  the  cold  now.  She  was  sorry  for  Mr. 
Borthwick.  She  had  full  faith  in  the  sign.  Was  not  the  fact 
that  Major  Colquhoun,  whom  she  had  never  even  heard  of  in 
her  life  before,  was  sitting  beside  her  at  that  moment,  con 
firmation  strong,  if  any  were  wanting  ?  But  she  asked  no 
more. 

After  lunch  her  father  carried  his  guest  off  to  smoke,  and 
she  went  up  to  her  own  room  to  be  alone,  and  sat  in  the  sun 
by  the  open  window,  with  her  head  resting  on  the  back  of  her 
chair,  looking  up  at  the  sky  ;  and  sighed,  and  smiled,  and 
clasped  her  hands  to  her  breast,  and  revelled  in  sensations. 

Major  Colquhoun  had  been  staying  with  a  neighbouring 
county  gentleman,  but  she  found  when  she  met  him  again  at 


54  THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

afternoon  tea  that  her  father  had  persuaded  him  to  come  to 
Fraylingay  for  some  shooting.  He  was  to  go  back  that  night, 
and  return  to  them  the  following  Tuesday.  Evadne  heard  of 
the  arrangement  in  silence,  and  unsurprised.  Had  he  gone  and 
not  returned,  she  would  have  wondered  ;  but  this  sudden 
admission  of  a  stranger  to  the  family  circle,  although  unusual, 
was  not  unprecedented  at  Fraylingay,  where,  after  it  was  cer 
tain  that  you  knew  the  right  people,  pleasant  manners  were  the 
only  passport  necessary  to  secure  a  footing  of  easy  intimacy  ; 
and,  besides,  it  was  inevitable — that  the  sign  might  be  fulfilled. 
So  Evadne  folded  her  hands  as  it  were,  and  calmly  awaited 
the  course  of  events,  not  doubting  for  a  moment  that  she 
knew  exactly  what  that  course  was  to  be. 

She  did  not  actually  see  much  of  Major  Colquhoun  in  the 
days  that  followed,  although,  when  he  was  not  out  shooting, 
he  was  always  beside  her  ;  but  such  timid  glances  as  she  stole 
satisfied  her.  And  she  heard  her  mother  say  what  a  fine- 
looking  man  he  was,  and  her  father  emphatically  pronounced 
him  to  be  u  a  very  good  fellow."  He  was  Irish  by  his  mother's 
side,  Scotch  by  his  father's,  but  much  more  Irish  than  Scotch 
by  predilection,  and  it  was  his  mother  tongue  he  spoke,  exag 
gerating  the  accent  slightly  to  heighten  the  effect  of  a  tender 
speech  or  a  good  story.  With  the  latter  he  kept  Mr.  Frayling 
well  entertained,  and  Evadne  he  plied  with  the  former  on 
every  possible  occasion. 

His  visit  was  to  have  been  for  a  few  days  only,  but  it 
extended  itself  to  some  weeks,  at  the  end  of  which  time  Evadne 
had  accepted  him,  the  engagement  had  been  announced  in 
the  proper  papers,  Mrs.  Frayling  was  radiant,  congratulations 
poured  in,  and  everybody  concerned  was  in  a  state  of  pleasur 
able  excitement  from  morning  till  night. 

Mrs.  Frayling  was  an  affectionate  woman,  and  it  was  touch 
ing  to  see  her  writing  fluent  letters  of  announcement  to  her 
many  friends,  the  smiles  on  her  lips  broken  by  ominous 
quiverings  now  and  then,  and  a  handkerchief  held  crumpled 
in  her  left  hand,  and  growing  gradually  damper,  as  she  pro 
ceeded,  with  the  happy  tears  that  threatened  her  neat  epistle 
with  blots  and  blisters. 

"  It  has  been  the  prettiest  idyl  to  us  onlookers,"  she  wrote 
to  Lady  Adeline.  "  Love  at  first  sight  with  both  of  them,  and 
their  first  glimpse  of  each  other  was  in  church,  which  we  all 
take  to  be  the  happiest  omen  that  God's  blessing  is  upon  them, 
and  will  sanctify  their  union.  Evadne  says  little,  but  there  is 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  55 

such  a  delicate  tinge  of  colour  in  her  cheeks  always,  and  such 
a  happy  light  in  her  eyes,  that  I  cannot  help  looking  at  her. 
George  is  senior  major,  and  will  command  the  regiment  in  a 
very  short  time,  and  his  means  are  quite  ample  enough  for 
them  to  begin  upon.  There  is  twenty  years  difference  in  their 
ages,  which  sounds  too  much  theoretically,  but  practically, 
when  you  see  them  together,  you  never  think  of  it.  He  is 
very  handsome,  every  inch  a  soldier,  and  an  Irishman,  with 
all  an  Irishman's  brightness  and  wit,  and  altogether  the  most 
taking  manners.  I  tell  Evadne  I  am  quite  in  love  with  him 
myself  !  He  is  a  thoroughly  good  Churchman  too,  which  is  a 
great  blessing — never  misses  a  service,  and  it  is  a  beautiful 
sight  to  see  him  kneeling  beside  Evadne  as  rapt  and  intent  as 
she  is.  He  was  rather  wild  as  a  young  man,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  but  he  has  been  quite  frank  about  all  that  to  Mr.  Fray- 
ling,  and  there  is  nothing  now  that  we  can  object  to.  In  fact, 
we  think  he  is  exactly  suited  to  Evadne,  and  we  are  thoroughly 
satisfied  in  every  way.  You  can  imagine  that  I  find  it  hard  to 
part  with  her,  but  I  always  knew  that  it  would  be  the  case  as 
soon  as  she  came  out,  and  so  was  prepared  in  a  way ;  still, 
that  will  not  lessen  the  wrench  when  it  comes.  But  of  course 
I  must  not  consider  my  own  feelings  when  the  dear  child's 
happiness  is  in  question,  and  I  think  that  long  engagements 
are  a  mistake  ;  and  as  there  is  really  no  reason  why  they 
should  wait,  they  are  to  be  married  at  the  end  of  next  month, 
which  gives  us  only  six  weeks  to  get  the  trousseau.  We  are 
going  to  town  at  once  to  see  about  it,  and  I  think  that  prob 
ably  the  ceremony  will  take  place  there  too.  It  would  be  such 
a  business  at  Fraylingay,  with  all  the  tenants  and  everything, 
and  altogether  one  has  to  consider  expense.  But  do  write  at 
once  and  promise  me  that  we  may  expect  you,  and  Mr.  Hamil 
ton-Wells,  and  the  dear  twins,  wherever  it  is.  In  fact,  I  believe 
Evadne  is  writing  to  Theodore  at  this  moment  to  ask  him  to 
be  her  page,  and  Angelica  will,  of  course,  be  a  bridesmaid." 

During  the  first  days  of  her  absorbing  passion  Evadne's 
devotion  to  God  was  intensified.  "  Sing  to  the  Lord  a  new 
song  "  was  forever  upon  her  lips. 

When  the  question  of  her  engagement  came  to  be  mooted 
she  had  had  a  long  talk  with  her  father,  following  upon  a  still 
longer  talk  which  he  had  with  Major  Colquhoun. 

"  And  you  are  satisfied  with  my  choice,  father  ?  "  she  said. 
"You  consider  George  in  every  respect  a  suitable  husband 
for  me  ? " 


56  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  In  all  respects,  my  dear,"  he  answered  heartily.  "  He  is 
a  very  fine,  manly  fellow." 

"  There  was  nothing  in  his  past  life  to  which  I  should 
object  ?"  she  ventured  timidly. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  he  assured  her.  "  He  has  been 
perfectly  straightforward  about  himself,  and  I  am  satisfied 
that  he  will  make  you  an  excellent  husband." 

It  was  all  the  assurance  she  required,  and  after  she  had 
received  it  she  gave  herself  up  to  her  happiness  without  a 
doubt,  and  unreservedly. 

The  time  flew.  Major  Colquhoun's  leave  expired,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  return  to  his  regiment  at  Shorncliffe  ;  but  they 
wrote  to  each  other  every  day,  and  this  constant  communion 
was  a  new  source  of  delight  to  Evadne.  Just  before  they 
left  Frayltngay  she  went  to  see  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Orton  Beg. 
The  latter  had  sprained  her  ankle  severely,  and  would  there 
fore  not  be  able  to  go  to  Evadne's  wedding.  She  lived  in 
Morningquest,  and  had  a  little  house  in  the  Close  there. 
Morningquest  was  only  twenty  miles  from  Fraylingay,  but 
the  trains  were  tiresomely  slow,  and  did  not  run  in  connection, 
so  that  it  took  as  long  to  get  there  as  it  did  to  go  to  London, 
and  people  might  live  their  lives  in  Fraylingay,  and  know 
nothing  of  Morningquest. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg's  husband  was  buried  in  the  old  cathedral 
city,  and  she  lived  there  to  be  near  his  grave.  She  could 
never  tear  herself  away  from  it  for  long  together.  The  light 
of  her  life  had  gone  out  when  he  died,  and  was  buried  with 
him  ;  but  the  light  of  her  love,  fed  upon  the  blessed  hope  of 
immortality,  burnt  brighter  every  da)''. 

Her  existence  in  the  quiet  Close  was  a  very  peaceful,  dreamy 
one,  soothed  by  the  chime,  uplifted  by  the  sight  of  the  beau- 
tiful  old  cathedral,  and  regulated  by  its  service. 

Evadne  found  her  lying  on  a  couch  beside  an  open  window 
in  the  drawing  room,  which  was  a  long,  low  room,  running  the 
full  width  of  the  house,  and  with  a  window  at  either  end,  one 
looking  up  the  Close  to  the  north,  the  other  to  the  south,  into 
a  high-walled,  old-fashioned  flower  garden  ;  and  this  was  the 
one  near  which  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  lying. 

44 1  think  I  should  turn  to  the  cathedral,  Aunt  Olive," 
Evadne  said. 

"I  do,"  her  aunt  answered  ;  "but  not  at  this  time  of  day. 
I  travel  round  with  the  sun." 

"  It  would  fill   my  mind   with  beautiful  thoughts  to   live 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWIKS.  57 

here,'*  Evadne  said,  looking  up  at  the  lonely  spire  rever 
ently. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  your  mind  is  always  full  of  beautifu? 
thoughts,"  her  aunt  rejoined,  smiling.  "  But  I  know  what  you 
mean.  There  are  thoughts  carved  on  those  dumb  gray  stones 
which  can  only  come  to  us  from  such  a  source  of  inspiration. 
The  sincerity  of  the  old  workmen,  their  love  and  their  rever 
ence,  were  wrought  into  ail  they  produced,  and  if  only  we  hold 
our  own  minds  in  the  right  attitude,  we  receive  something 
of  their  grace.  Do  you  remember  that  passage  of  Long 
fellow's  ?— 

"  Ah  !  from  what  agonies  of  heart  and  brain, 

What  exultations  trampling  on  despair, 
What  tenderness,  what  tears,  what  hate  of  wrong1, 

What  passionate  outcry  of  a  soul  in  pain, 
Uprose  this  poem  of  the  earth  and  air, 
This  mediaeval  miracle,  .  .  .   ! 

Sitting  here  alone,  sometimes  I  seem  to  feel  it  all — all  the 
capacity  for  loving  sacrifice  and  all  the  energy  of  human 
passion  which  wrought  itself  into  that  beautiful  offering  of  its 
devotion,  and  made  it  acceptable.  But,  tell  me,  Evadne — are 
you  very  happy  ?" 

"  I  am  too  happy,  I  think,  auntie.  But  I  can't  talk  about  it. 
I  must  keep  the  consciousness  of  it  close  in  my  own  heart,  and 
guard  it  jealously,  lest  I  dissipate  any  atom  of  it  by  attempt 
ing  to  describe  it." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  love  is  such  a  delicate  thing  that 
the  slightest  exposure  will  destroy  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  think.  But  the  feeling  is  so  fresh 
now,  auntie,  I  am  afraid  to  run  the  risk  of  uttering  a  word> 
or  hearing  one,  that  might  tarnish  it." 

She  strolled  out  into  the  garden  during  the  afternoon,  and 
sat  on  a  high-backed  chair  in  the  shade  of  the  old  brick  wall, 
with  eyes  half  closed  and  a  smile  hovering  about  her  lips. 
The  wall  was  curtained  with  canaryensis,  Virginia  creeper  rich 
in  autumn  tints,  ivy,  and  giant  nasturtiums.  Great  sunflowers 
grew  up  against  it,  and  a  row  of  single  dahlias  of  every  possi 
ble  hue  crowded  up  close  to  the  sunflowers.  They  made  a 
background  to  the  girl's  slender  figure. 

She  sat  there  a  long  time,  happily  absorbed,  and  Mrs. 
Orton  Beg's  memory,  as  she  watched  her,  slipped  back  inevi 
tably  to  her  own  love  days,  till  tears  came  of  the  inward 


58  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

supplication  that  Evadne's  future  might  never  know  the  terri 
ble  blight  which  had  fallen  upon  her  own  life. 

Evadne  walked  through  the  village  on  her  way  back  to 
Fraylingay.  A  young  woman  with  her  baby  in  her  arms  was 
standing  at  the  door  of  her  cottage  looking  out  as  she  passed, 
and  she  stopped  to  speak  to  her.  The  child  held  out  his  little 
arms,  and  kicked  and  crowed  to  be  taken,  and  when  his 
mother  had  intrusted  him  to  Evadne,  he  clasped  her  tight 
round  the  neck,  and  nibbled  her  cheek  with  his  warm,  moist 
mouth,  sending  a  delicious  thrill  through  every  fibre  of  her 
body,  a  first  foretaste  of  maternity. 

She  hurried  on  to  hide  her  emotion. 

But  all  the  way  home  there  was  a  singing  at  her  heart,  a 
certainty  of  joys  undreamt  of  hitherto,  the  tenderest,  sweetest, 
most  womanly  joys — her  own  house,  her  own  husband,  her 
own  children — perhaps  ;  it  all  lay  in  that,  her  own  / 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  next  few  weeks  were  decked  with  the  richness  of 
autumn  tints,  the  glory  of  autumn  skies  ;  but  Evadne  was 
unaware  of  either.  She  had  no  consciousness  of  distinct  days 
and  nights,  and  indeed  they  were  pretty  well  mingled  after  she 
went  to  town,  for  she  often  danced  till  daylight  and  slept  till 
dusk.  And  it  was  all  a  golden  haze,  this  time,  with  impres 
sions  of  endless  shops  ;  of  silks,  satins,  and  lovely  laces ;  of 
costly  trinkets  ;  of  little  notes  flying  between  London  and 
Shorncliffe  ;  and  of  everybody  so  happy  that  it  was  impossible 
to  help  sitting  down  and  having  a  good  cry  occasionally. 

The  whirl  in  which  she  lived  during  this  period  was  entered 
upon  without  thought,  her  own  inclinations  agreeing  at  the 
time  to  every  usage  sanctioned  by  custom  ;  but  in  after  years 
she  said  that  those  days  of  dissipation  and  excitement  appeared 
to  her  to  be  a  curious  preparation  for  the  solemn  duties  she 
was  about  to  enter  upon. 

Evadne  felt  the  time  fly,  and  she  felt  also  that  the  days  were 
never  ending.  It  was  six  weeks  at  first ;  and  then  all  at  once, 
as  it  seemed,  there  was  only  one  week  ;  and  then  it  was  "to 
morrow  !  "  All  that  last  day  there  was  a  terrible  racket  in 
the  house,  and  she  was  hardly  left  alone  a  single  moment,  and 
was  therefore  thankful  when  finally,  late  at  night,  she  managed 
to  escape  to  her  own  room — not  that  she  was  left  long  in  peace 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  59 

even  then,  however,  for  two  of  her  bridesmaids  were  staying 
in  the  house,  and  they  and  her  sisters  stormed  her  chamber  in 
their  dressing-gowns,  and  had  a  pillow  fight  to  begin  with, 
and  then  sat  down  and  cackled  for  an  hour,  speculating  as  to 
whether  they  should  like  to  ba  married  or  not.  They  decided 
that  they  should,  because  of  the  presents,  you  know,  and  the 
position,  and  the  delight  of  having  such  a  lot  of  new  gowns, 
and  being  your  own  mistress,  with  your  own  house  and  serv 
ants  ;  they  thought  of  everything,  in  fact,  but  the  inevitable 
husband,  the  possession  of  whom  certainly  constituted  no  part 
of  the  advantages  which  they  expected  to  secure  by  marriage. 
Evadne  sat  silent,  and  smiled  at  their  chatter  with  the  air  of 
one  who  has  solved  the  problem  and  knows.  But  she  was  glad 
to  be  rid  of  them,  and  when  they  had  gone,  she  got  her  sacred 
"  Commonplace  Book,"  and  glanced  through  it  dreamily. 
Then,  rousing  herself  a  little,  she  went  to  her  writing  table, 
and  sat  down  and  wrote :  "  This  is  the  close  of  the  happiest 
girlhood  that  girl  ever  had.  I  cannot  recall  a  single  thing  that 
I  would  have  had  otherwise." 

When  she  had  locked  the  book  away,  with  some  other  posses 
sions  in  a  box  that  was  to  be  sent  to  await  her  arrival  at  her 
new  home,  she  took  up  a  photograph  of  her  lover  and  gazed 
at  it  rapturously  for  a  moment,  then  pressed  it  to  her  lips  and 
breast,  and  placed  it  where  her  eyes  might  light  on  it  as  soon 
as  she  awoke. 

She  was  aroused  by  a  kiss  on  her  lips  and  a  warm  tear  on 
her  cheek  next  morning.  "  Wake,  darling,"  her  mother  said. 
"  This  is  your  wedding  day." 

"  Oh,  mother,"  she  cried,  flinging  her  arms  round  her 
neck  ;  "  how  good  of  you  to  come  yourself !  I  am  so 
happy  !  " 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells,  Lady  Adeline,  and  the  Heavenly  Twins 
had  been  at  the  Fraylings*  since  breakfast,  and  nothing  had 
happened. 

Lady  Adeline,  having  seen  the  children  safely  and  beauti 
fully  dressed  for  the  ceremony,  Angelica  as  a  bridesmaid, 
Diavolo  as  page,  left  them  sitting,  with  a  picture-book  between 
them,  like  model  twins. 

"  Really,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells,  "  I  think  the 
occasion  is  too  interesting  for  them  to  have  anything  else  in 
their  heads." 

But  the  moment  she  left  them  alone  those  same  heads  went 
up,  and  set  themselves  in  a  listening  attitude. 


60  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS, 

"  Now,  Diavolo  ;  quick ! "  said  Angelica,  as  soon  as  the 
sound  of  her  mother's  departing  footsteps  had  died  away. 

Diavolo  dashed  the  picture-book  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room,  sprang  up,  and  followed  Angelica  swiftly  but  stealthily 
to  the  very  top  of  the  house. 

When  the  wedding  party  assembled  in  the  drawing  room  the 
twins  were  nowhere  to  be  found.  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  went 
peering  through  his  eyeglass  into  every  corner,  removed  the 
glass  and  looked  without  it,  then  dusted  it,  and  looked  once 
more  to  make  sure,  while  Lady  Adeline  grew  rigid  with  nerv 
ous  anxiety. 

The  search  had  to  be  abandoned,  however  ;  but  when  the 
party  went  down  to  the  carriages,  it  was  discovered,  to  every 
body's  great  relief,  that  the  children  had  already  modestly 
taken  their  seats  in  one  of  them  with  their  backs  to  the  horses. 
Each  was  carefully  covered  with  an  elegant  wrap,  and  sitting 
bolt  upright,  the  picture  of  primness.  The  wraps  were  super 
fluous,  and  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  was  about  to  remonstrate,  but 
Lady  Adeline  exclaimed  :  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  interfere  ! 
It  is  such  a  trifle.  If  you  irritate  them,  goodness  knows  what 
will  happen." 

But,  manlike,  he  could  not  let  things  be. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  you  naughty  children  ? '  he 
demanded  in  his  precisest  way.  "  You  have  really  given  a 
great  deal  of  trouble." 

"Well,  papa,"  Angelica  retorted  hotly,  at  the  top  of  her 
voice  through  the  carriage  window  for  the  edification  of  the 
crowd,  "you  said  we  were  to  be  good  children,  and  not  get 
into  everybody's  way,  and  here  we  have  been  sitting  an  hour 
as  good  as  possible,  and  quite  out  of  the  way,  and  you  aren't 
satisfied  !  It's  quite  unreasonable  ;  isn't  it,  Diavolo  ?  Papa 
can't  get  on,  I  believe,  without  finding  fault  with  us.  It's  just 
a  bad  habit  he's  got,  and  when  we  give  him  no  excuse  he 
invents  one." 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  and  the  party 
arrived  at  the  church  without  mishap,  but  when  the  procession 
was  formed  there  was  a  momentary  delay.  They  were  wait 
ing  for  the  bride's  page,  who  descended  with  the  youngest 
bridesmaid  from  the  last  carriage,  and  the  two  came  into  the 
church  demurely,  hand  in  hand.  "  What  darlings  !  "  "  Aren't 
they  pretty  ?  "  "  What  a  sweet  little  boy,  with  his  lovely  dark 
curls  !  "  was  heard  from  all  sides  ;  but  there  was  also  an  audible 
titter.  Lady  Adeline  turned  pale,  Mrs.  Frayl ing's  fan  dropped 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  6 1 

Evadne  lost  her  countenance.  The  twins  had  changed 
clothes. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  then,  however  ;  so  Angelica 
obtained  the  coveted  pleasure  of  acting  as  page  to  Evadne, 
and  Diavolo  escaped  the  trouble  of  having  to  hold  up  her 
train,  and  managed  besides  to  have  some  fun  with  a  small 
but  amorous  boy  who  was  to  have  been  Angelica's  pair,  and 
who,  knowing  nothing  of  the  fraud  which  had  been  perpe 
trated,  insisted  on  kissing  the  fair  Diavolo,  to  that  young  gen- 
tleinan's  lasting  delight. 

It  was  a  misty  morning,  with  onl)*  fitful  glimpses  of  sun 
shine. 

Mrs.  Frayling  was  not  a  bit  superstitious  (nobody  is),  but 
she  had  been  watching  the  omens  (most  people  do),  and  she 
would  have  been  better  satisfied  had  the  day  been  bright  ; 
but  still  she  felt  no  shadow  of  a  foreboding  until  the  twins 
appeared.  Then,  however,  there  arose  in  her  heart  a  horri 
fied  exclamation  :  "  It  is  unnatural  !  It  will  bring  bad  luck." 

There  was  no  fun  for  the  Heavenly  Twins  apart,  so  they 
decided  to  sit  together  at  the  wedding  breakfast,  and  nobody 
dared  to  separate  them,  lest  worse  should  come  of  it. 

Diavolo  bet  he  would  drink  as  much  champagne  as  Major 
Colquhoun,  and  having  secured  a  seat  opposite  to  an  uncorked 
bottle,  he  proceeded  conscientiously  to  do  his  best  to  win  the 
wager.  Toward  the  end  of  breakfast,  however,  he  lost  count, 
and  then  he  lost  his  head,  and  showed  signs  of  falling  off  his 
chair. 

"  You  must  go  to  sleep  under  the  table  now,"  said  Angelica, 
"  It's  the  proper  thing  to  do  when  you're  drunk.  I'm  going 
to.  But  I'm  not  far  enough  gone  yet.  My  legs  are  queer,  but 
my  head  is  steady.  Get  under,  will  you  ?  I'll  be  down 
directly."  And  she  cautiously  but  rapidly  dislodged  him, 
and  landed  him  at  her  feet,  everybody's  attention  being  occu 
pied  at  the  moment  by  the  gentleman  who  was  gracefully 
returning  thanks  for  the  ladies.  When  the  speech  was  over 
Lady  Adeline  remembered  the  twins  with  a  start,  and  at  once 
missed  Diavolo. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  He  is  just  doing  something  for  me,  mamma,"  Angelica 
answered. 

He  was  acting  at  that  moment  as  her  footstool  under  the 
table.  She  did  not  join  him  there  as  she  had  promised,  how 
ever,  because  when  the  wine  made  her  begin  to  feel  giddy  she 


62  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

took  no  more.  She  said  afterward  she  saw  no  fun  in  feeling 
nasty,  and  she  thought  a  person  must  be  a  fool  to  think  there 
was,  and  Diavolo,  who  was  suffering  badly  at  the  moment 
from  headache  and  nausea,  the  effect  of  his  potations,  agreed. 
That  was  on  the  evening  of  the  eventful  day  at  their  own 
town  house,  their  father  and  mother  having  hurried  them  off 
there  as  soon  after  Diavolo  was  discovered  in  a  helpless  con- 
dition  as  they  could  conveniently  make  their  escape.  The 
twins  had  been  promptly  put  to  bed  in  their  respective  rooms, 
and  told  to  stay  there,  but,  of  course,  it  did  not  in  the  least 
follow  that  they  would  obey,  and  locking  them  up  had  not 
been  found  to  answer.  Angelica  did  remain  quiet,  however, 
an  hour  or  so,  resting  after  all  the  excitement  of  the  morning  ; 
but  she  got  up  eventually,  put  on  her  dressing  gown,  and 
went  to  Diavolo  ;  and  it  was  then  they  discussed  the  drink 
question.  Discussion,  however,  was  never  enough  for  the 
twins  ;  they  always  wanted  to  ^something  ;  so  now  they  went 
down  to  the  library  together,  erected  an  altar  of  valuable 
books,  and  arrayed  themselves  in  white  sheets,  which  they  tore 
from  the  parental  couch  for  the  purpose,  considerably  disar 
ranging  the  same  ;  and  the  sheets  they  covered  with  crimson 
curtains,  taken  down  at  imminent  risk  of  injuring  themselves 
from  one  of  the  dining  room  windows,  with  the  help  of  a 
ladder,  abstracted  from  the  area  by  way  of  the  front  door, 
although  they  were  in  their  dressing-gowns,  the  time  chosen 
for  this  revel  being  when  their  parents  were  in  the  drawing 
room  after  dinner,  and  all  the  servants  were  having  their 
supper  and  safe  out  of  the  way.  The  ladder  was  used  to  go 
down  to  the  coal  cellar,  and  never,  of  course,  replaced,  the  con 
sequence  being  that  the  next  person  who  went  for  coal  fell  in 
in  the  dark,  and  broke  her  leg,  an  accident  which  cost  Mr. 
Hamilton-Wells  from  first  to  last  a  considerable  sum,  he  being 
a  generous  man,  and  unwilling  to  let  anyone  suffer  in  pocket 
in  his  service  ;  he  thought  the  risks  to  life  and  limb  were 
sufficient  without  that. 

Having  completed  these  solemn  preparations  the  twins 
swore  a  ghastly  oath  on  the  altar  never  to  touch  drink  again, 
and  might  they  be  found  out  in  everything  they  did  on  earth 
if  they  broke  it,  and  never  see  heaven  when  they  died  ! 

The  wedding  breakfast  went  off  merrily  enough,  and  when 
the  bride  and  bridesmaids  left  the  table,  and  the  dining  room 
door  was  safely  shut,  there  was  much  girlish  laughter  in  the 
hall,  and  an  undignified  scamper  up  the  stairs,  also  a  tussle  as 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  63 

to  who  should  take  the  first  pin  from  the  bride's  veil  and  be 
married  next,  and  much  amusement  when  Mrs.  Frayling's 
elderly  maid  unconsciously  appropriated  it  herself  in  the  way 
of  business. 

Evadne  hugged  her,  exclaiming  :  "  You  dear  old  Jenny  ! 
You  shall  be  married  next,  and  I'll  be  your  bridesmaid  !  " 

"  Oh,  no  you  won't  ! "  cried  one  of  the  girls.  "  You'll 
never  be  a  bridesmaid  again." 

Then  suddenly  there  was  silence.  "  Never  again  "  is  chill- 
ing  in  effect  ;  it  is  such  a  very  long  time. 

As  Evadne  was  leaving  the  room  in  her  travelling  dress  she 
noticed  some  letters  lying  on  her  dressing  table,  which  she 
had  forgotten,  and  turned  back  to  get  them.  They  had  come 
by  the  morning's  post,  but  she  had  not  opened  any  of  them, 
and  now  she  began  to  put  them  into  her  pocket  one  by  one  to 
read  at  her  leisure,  glancing  at  the  superscriptions  as  she  did 
so.  One  was  from  Aunt  Olive  :  dear  Aunt  Olive,  how  kind 
of  her  !  Two  were  letters  of  congratulation  from  friends  of 
the  family.  A  fourth  was  from  the  old  housekeeper  at  Fray- 
lingay ;  she  kissed  that.  The  fifth  was  in  a  strange  and 
peculiar  hand  which  she  did  not  recognize,  and  she  opened  it 
first  to  see  who  her  correspondent  might  be.  The  letter  was 
from  the  North,  and  had  been  addressed  to  Fraylingay,  and 
she  should  have  received  it  some  days  before.  As  she  drew  it 
from  its  envelope  she  glanced  at  the  signature  and  at  the  last 
few  words,  which  were  uppermost,  and  seemed  surprised. 
She  knew  the  writer  by  name  and  reputation  very  well,  although 
they  had  never  met,  and,  feeling  sure  that  the  communication 
must  be  something  of  importance,  she  unfolded  the  letter,  and 
read  it  at  once  deliberately  from  beginning  to  end. 

When  she  appeared  among  the  guests  again  she  was  pale, 
her  lips  were  set,  and  she  held  her  head  high.  Her  mother 
said  the  dear  child  was  quite  overwrought,  but  she  saw  only 
what  she  expected  to  see  through  her  own  tear-bedimmed  eyes, 
and  other  people  were  differently  impressed.  They  thought 
Evadne  was  cold  and  preoccupied  when  it  came  to  the  part 
ing,  and  did  not  seem  to  feel  leaving  her  friends  at  all.  She 
went  out  dry-eyed  after  kissing  her  mother,  took  her  seat  in 
the  carriage,  bowed  polite  but  unsmiling  acknowledgments  to 
her  friends,  and  drove  off  with  Major  Colquhoun  with  as  little 
show  of  emotion,  and  much  the  same  air  as  if  she  had  merely 
been  going  somewhere  on  business,  and  expected  to  return 
directly. 


64  THE  HEAVENLY 

"  Thank  goodness,  all  that  is  over  !  "  Major  Colquhoun 
exclaimed.  She  looked  at  him  coolly  and  critically. 

He  was  sitting  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  she  noticed 
that  his  hair  was  thin  on  his  forehead,  and  there  was  nothing 
of  youth  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  expect  you  are  tired,"  he  further  observed. 

"  No,  I  am  not  tired,  thank  you,"  Evadne  answered. 

Then  she  set  her  lips  once  more,  leant  back,  and  looked 
out  of  the  carriage  window  at  the  street  all  sloppy  with  mud, 
and  the  poor  people  seeming  so  miserable  in  the  rain  which 
had  been  falling  steadily  for  the  last  hour. 

"  Poor  weary  creatures  ! "  she  thought.  "  We  have  so 
much,  and  they  so  little  !  "  But  she  did  not  speak  again  till 
the  carriage  pulled  up  at  the  station,  when  she  leant  forward 
with  anxious  eyes,  and  said  something  confusedly  about  the 
crowd. 

Major  Colquhoun  thought  she  was  afraid  of  being  stared  at. 
He  took  out  his  watch. 

"  You  will  only  have  to  cross  the  platform  to  the  carriage," 
he  said,  "  and  the  train  ought  to  be  up  by  this  time.  But  if 
you  don't  mind  being  left  alone  a  moment,  I'll  just  go  myself 
and  see  if  it  is,  and  where  they  are  going  to  put  us,  and  then 
I  can  take  you  there  straight,  and  you  won't  feel  the  crowd  at 
all." 

He  was  not  gone  many  minutes,  but  when  he  returned  the 
carriage  was  empty. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Colquhoun?"  he  said. 

"  She  followed  you,  sir,"  the  coachman  answered,  touching 
his  hat. 

"  Confound—  He  pulled  himself  up.  "  She'll  be  back  in 
a  moment,  I  suppose,"  he  muttered. 

"  Dover  express  !  Take  your  seats ! "  bawled  a  porter. 
"  A  re  you  for  the  Dover  express  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Major  Colquhoun. 

"  Engaged  carriage,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes — oh,  by  the  way,  perhaps  she's  gone  to  the  carriage," 
and  he  started  to  see,  the  porter  following  him.  "  Did  you 
notice  a  young  lady  in  a  gray  dress  pass  this  way  ?  "  he  asked 
the  man  as  they  went. 

"  With  a  pink  feather  in  'er  'at,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Not  pass  up  this  way,  sir,"  the  man  rejoined.  "She  got 
into  a  'ansom  over  there,  and  drove  off — if  it  was  the  same 


THE  HE  A  VEtfL  Y  TWItfS.  65 

young  lady."  Major  Colquhoun  stopped  short.  The  com 
partment  reserved  for  them  was  empty  also. 

"  Dover  express  !  Dover  express  !  "  the  guard  shouted  as 
he  came  along  banging  the  carriage  doors  to. 

"For  Dover,  sir?"  he  said  in  his  ordinary  voice  to  Major 
Colquhoun. 

"  No.     It  seems  not,"  that  gentleman  answered  deliberately. 

The  guard  went  on :  "  Dover  express  !  Dover  express  ! 
All  right,  Bill  !  "  This  was  to  someone  in  front  as  he  popped 
into  his  own  van,  and  shut  the  door. 

Then  the  whistle  shrieked  derisively,  the  crank  turned,  and 
the  next  moment  the  train  slid  out  serpent-like  into  the  mist. 
Major  Colquhoun  had  watched  it  off  like  any  ordinary  spec 
tator,  and  when  it  had  gone  he  looked  at  the  porter,  and  the 
porter  looked  at  him. 

"  Was  your  luggage  in  the  train,  sir?"  the  man  asked  him. 

"Yes,  but  only  booked  to  Dover,"  Major  Colquhoun 
answered  carelessly,  taking  out  a  cigarette  case  and  choos 
ing  a  cigarette  with  exaggerated  precision.  When  he  had 
lighted  it  he  tipped  the  porter,  and  strolled  back  to  the 
entrance,  on  the  chance  of  finding  the  carriage  still  there, 
but  it  had  gone,  and  he  called  a  hansom,  paused  a  moment 
with  his  foot  on  the  step,  then  finally  directed  the  man  to 
drive  to  the  Fraylings'. 

"  Swell's  bin  sold  some'ow,"  commented  the  porter.  "And 
if  I  was  a  swell  I  wouldn't  take  on  neither." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  Fraylings  had  decided  to  postpone  all  further  festiv 
ities  till  the  bride  and  bridegroom's  return,  so  that  the 
wedding  guests  had  gone,  and  the  house  looked  as  drearily 
commonplace  as  any  other  in  the  street  when  the  hansom 
pulled  up  a  little  short  of  the  door  for  Major  Colquhoun  to 
alight. 

The  servant  who  answered  his  ring  made  no  pretense  of 
concealing  his  astonishment  when  he  saw  who  it  was,  but  Major 
Colquhoun's  manner  effectually  checked  any  expression  of  it. 
He  was  not  the  kind  of  a  man  whom  a  servant  would  ever 
have  dared  to  express  any  sympathy  with,  however  obviously 
things  might  have  gone  wrong.  But  there  was  nothing  in 
Major  Colquhoun's  appearance  at  that  moment  to  show  that 


66  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  TWftfS. 

anything  had  gone  wrong,  except  his  return  when  he  should 
have  been  off  on  his  wedding  journey.  There  was  probably  a 
certain  amount  of  assumption  in  his  apparent  indifference. 
He  had  always  cultivated  an  inscrutable  bearing,  as  being  "  the 
thing  "  in  his  set,  so  that  it  was  easy  for  him  now  to  appear  to 
be  cooler  and  more  collected  than  he  was.  His  attitude,  how 
ever,  was  largely  due  to  a  want  of  proper  healthy  feeling,  for 
he  was  a  vice-worn  man,  with  small  capacity  left  for  any  great 
emotion. 

He  walked  into  the  hall  and  hung  up  his  hat. 

"  Is  Mr.  Frayling  alone  ? "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir — with  Mrs.  Frayling — and  the  family — upstairs  in 
the  drawing  room,"  the  man  stammered. 

u  Ask  him  to  see  me  down  here,  please.  Say  a  gentleman." 
He  stepped  to  a  mirror  as  he  spoke  and  carefully  twisted  the 
ends  of  his  blond  moustache. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  the  servant. 

Major  Colquhoun  walked  into  the  library  in  the  same  delib 
erate  way,  and  turned  up  the  gas.  Mr.  Frayling  came  hurry 
ing  down,  fat  and  fussy,  and  puffing  a  little,  but  cheerfully 
rubicund  upon  the  success  of  the  day's  proceedings,  and 
apprehending  nothing  untoward.  When  he  saw  his  son-in-law 
he  opened  his  eyes,  stopped  short,  turned  pale,  and  gasped. 

"  Is  Evadne  here  ?  "  Major  Colquhoun  asked  quietly. 

"  Here  ?  No  !  What  should  she  be  doing  here  ?  What 
has  happened?"  Mr.  Frayling  exclaimed  aghast. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  don't  rightly  know  myself  if  she  is  not 
here,"  Major  Colquhoun  replied,  the  quiet  demeanour  he  had 
assumed  contrasting  favourably  with  his  father-in-law's  fuss 
and  fume, 

"  Why  have  you  left  her  ?  What  are  you  doing  here  ? 
Explain,"  Mr.  Frayling  demanded  almost  angrily. 

Major  Colquhoun  related  the  little  he  knew,  and  Mr.  Fray- 
ling  plumped  down  into  a  chair  to  listen,  and  bounced  up 
again,  when  all  was  said,  to  speak. 

"  Let  me  send  for  her  mother,"  he  began,  showing  at  once 
where,  in  an  emergency,  he  felt  that  his  strength  lay.  "  No, 
though,  I'd  better  go  myself  and  prepare  her,"  he  added  on 
second  thought.  "  We  mustn't  make  a  fuss — with  all  the  serv 
ants  about  too.  They  would  talk."  And  then  he  fussed  off 
himself,  with  agitation  evident  in  every  step. 

Something  like  a  smile  disturbed  Major  Colquhoun's  calm 
countenance  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  stood,  twisting  the 


THE  HEA-VENLY   TWINS.  67 

ends  of  his  fair  moustache  slowly  with  his  left  hand,  and 
gazing  into  the  fire,  which  shone  reflected  in  his  steely  blue 
eyes,  making  them  glitter  like  pale  sapphires,  coldly,  while  he 
waited. 

Mr.  Frayling  returned  with  his  wife  almost  immediately. 
The  latter  had  had  her  handkerchief  in  her  hand  all  day,  but 
she  put  it  in  her  pocket  now. 

Major  Colquhoun  had  to  repeat  his  story. 

"  Did  you  look  for  her  in  the  waiting  rooms?"  Mrs.  Fray- 
ling  asked. 

"  No." 

"  She  may  be  there  waiting  for  you  at  this  very  moment." 

It  was  a  practical  suggestion. 

"  But  the  porter  said  he  saw  her  get  into  a  hansom,"  Major 
Colquhoun  objected. 

"  He  said  he  saw  a  young  lady  in  gray  get  into  a  hansom,  I 
understood  you  to  say,"  Mrs.  Frayling  corrected  him.  "  A 
young  lady  in  gray  is  not  necessarily  Evadne.  There  might 
be  a  dozen  young  ladies  in  gray  in  such  a  crowd." 

"  There  might,  yes,"  Mr.  Frayling  agreed. 

"  And  the  proof  that  it  was  not  Evadne  is  that  she  is  not 
here,"  her  mother  proceeded.  "  If  she  had  been  seen  getting 
into  a  hansom  it  could  only  have  been  to  come  here." 

"  A  hansom  might  break  down  on  the  way,"  said  Major 
Colquhoun,  entertaining  the  idea  for  a  moment. 

"  That  is  not  impossible,"  Mr.  Frayling  decided. 

"  But  why  should  she  come  here  ? "  Major  Colquhoun 
slowly  pursued,  looking  hard  at  his  parents-in-law.  "  Had  she 
any  objection  to  marrying  me  ?  Was  she  overpersuaded 
into  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  t"  Mrs.  Frayling  exclaimed  emphatically.  "  How 
can  you  suppose  such  a  thing  ?  We  should  never  have  dreamed 
of  influencing  the  dear  child  in  such  a  matter.  If  there  were 
ever  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight  it  was  one.  Why,  her  first 
words  on  awaking  this  morning,  were  :  '  Oh,  mother  !  I  am  so 
happy  !'  and  that  doesn't  sound  like  being  overpersuaded  !" 

"Then  what,  in  God's  name,  is  the  explanation  of  all  this?" 
Major  Colquhoun  exclaimed,  showing  some  natural  emotion 
for  the  first  time. 

"  That  is  it,"  said  Mr.  Frayling  energetically.  "  There 
must  be  some  explanation." 

"  Heaven  grant  that  the  dear  child  has  not  been  entrapped 
in  some  way  and  carried  off,  and  robbed,  and  murdered,  or 


68  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

something  dreadful"  Mrs.  Frayling  cried,  giving  way  to  the 
strain  all  at  once,  and  wringing  her  hands. 

Then  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  period  of  specula 
tion  was  followed  by  a  momentary  interregnum  of  silence, 
which  would  in  due  course  be  succeeded  by  a  desire  to  act,  to 
do  something,  if  nothing  happened  in  the  meantime.  Some 
thing  did  happen,  however.  The  door  bell  rang  violently. 
They  looked  up  and  listened.  The  hall  door  was  opened. 
Footsteps  approached,  paused  outside  the  library,  and  then 
the  butler  entered,  and  handed  Mr.  Frayling  a  telegram  on  a 
silver  salver. 

"  Is  there  any  answer,  sir  ? "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Frayling  opened  it  with  trembling  hands  and  read  it. 
"  No  ;  no  answer,"  he  said. 

The  butler  looked  at  them  all  as  if  they  interested  him,  and 
withdrew. 

"  Well,"  cried  Mrs.  Frayling,  her  patience  exhausted.  "  Is 
it  from  her  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Frayling  replied.  "  It  was  handed  in  at  the 
General  Post  Office  at — 

"  The  General  Post  Office  !  "  Major  Colquhoun  ejaculated. 
"  What  on  earth  took  her  there  ? " 

"  The  hansom,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Frayling.  "  Oh, 
dear" — to  her  husband — "  do  read  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to,  if  you'll  let  me,"  he  answered  irri 
tably,  but  delaying,  nevertheless,  to  mutter  something  irrele 
vant  about  women's  tongues.  Then  he  read  :  "  '  Don't  be 
anxious  about  me.  Have  received  information  about  Major 
C.'s  character  and  past  life  which  does  not  satisfy  me  at  all, 
and  am  going  now  to  make  further  inquiries.  Will  write.'  " 

'*  Information  about  my  character  and  past  life  !  "  exclaimed 
Major  Colquhoun.  "  Why,  what  is  wrong  with  my  character  ? 
What  have  I  done?" 

"  Oh,  the  child  is  mad  !  she  must  be  mad  !"  Mrs.  Frayling 
ejaculated. 

Mr.  Frayling  fumed  up  and  down  the  room  in  evident  per 
turbation.  He  had  not  a  single  phrase  ready  for  such  an 
occasion,  nor  the  power  to  form  one,  and  was  consequently 
compelled  to  employ  quite  simple  language. 

"  You  had  better  make  inquiries  at  the  post  office,"  he  said 
to  Major  Colquhoun,  "  and  try  and  trace  her.  You  must  fol 
low  her  and  bring  her  back  at  once,  if  possible." 

"Not  I,  indeed."  was  Major  Colquhoun's  most  unexpected 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  6 9 

rejoinder ;  "  I  shall  not  give  myself  any  trouble  on  her  account ;  .A 
she  may  go." 

"  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  say  that,  George  !"  Mrs.  Fray- 
ling  exclaimed.  "You  do  love  her,  and  she  loves  you  ;  I  know 
she  does.  Some  dreadful  mischief-making  person  has  come 
between  you.  But  wait,  do  wait,  until  you  know  more.  It 
will  all  come  right  in  the  end.  I  am  sure  it  will." 

Major  Colquhoun  compressed  his  lips  and  looked  sullenly 
into  the  fire. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

ON  the  third  day  after  Evadne's  wedding,  in  the  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  sitting  alone  in  her  long,  low  drawing 
room  by  the  window  which  looked  out  into  the  high-walled 
garden.  She  had  found  it  difficult  to  occupy  herself  with 
books  and  work  that  day.  Her  sprained  ankle  had  been 
troublesome  during  the  night,  and  she  had  risen  late,  and 
when  her  maid  had  helped  her  to  dress,  and  she  had  limped 
downstairs  on  her  crutches,  and  settled  herself  in  her  long 
chair,  she  found  herself  disinclined  for  any  further  exertion, 
and  just  sat,  reclining  upon  pale  pink  satin  cushions,  her  slender 
hands  folded  upon  her  lap,  her  large,  dark  luminous  eyes  and 
delicate,  refined  features  all  set  in  a  wistful  sadness. 

There  was  a  singular  likeness  between  herself  and  Evadne 
in  some  things,  a  vague,  haunting  family  likeness  which  con- 
tinually  obtruded  itself  but  could  not  be  defined.  It  had  been 
more  distinct  when  Evadne  was  a  child,  and  would  doubtless 
have  grown  greater  had  she  lived  with  her  aunt,  but  the  very 
different  mental  attitude  which  she  gradually  acquired  had 
melted  the  resemblance,  as  it  were,  so  that  at  nineteen,  although 
her  slender  figure,  and  air,  and  carriage  continually  recalled 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  who  was  then  in  her  thirty-fifth  year,  the 
expression  of  her  face  was  so  different  that  they  were  really 
less  alike  than  they  had  been  when  Evadne  was  four  years 
younger.  Evadne's  disposition,  it  must  be  remembered,  was 
essentially  swift  to  act.  She  would,  as  a  human  being,  have 
her  periods  of  strong  feeling,  but  that  was  merely  a  physical 
condition  in  no  way  affecting  her  character  ;  and  the  only 
healthy  minded  happy  state  for  her  was  the  one  in  which 
thought  instantly  translated  itself  into  action. 

With  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  it  was  different.  Her  spiritual  nature 
predominated,  her  habits  of  mind  were  dreamy.  She  lived  for 


70  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

the  life  to  come  entirely,  and  held  herself  in  constant  commu 
nion  with  another  world.  She  felt  it  near  her,  she  said.  She 
believed  that  its  inhabitants  visit  the  earth,  and  take  cogniz 
ance  of  all  we  do  and  suffer  ;  and  she  cherished  the  certainty 
of  one  day  assuming  a  wondrous  form,  and  entering  upon  a 
new  life,  as  vivid  and  varied  and  as  real  as  this,  but  far  more 
perfect.  Her  friends  were  chiefly  of  her  own  way  of  thinking  ; 
but  her  faith  was  so  profound,  and  the  charm  of  her  conver 
sation  so  entrancing,  that  the  hardest  headed  materialists  were 
apt  to  feel  strange  delicious  thrills  in  her  presence,  forebodings 
of  possibilities  beyond  the  test  of  reason  and  knowledge  ;  and 
they  would  return  time  after  time  to  dispute  her  conclusions 
and  argue  themselves  out  of  the  impression  she  had  produced, 
but  only  to  relapse  into  their  former  state  of  blissful  sensation 
so  soon  as  they  once  more  found  themselves  within  range  of 
her  influence.  Opinions  are  germs  in  the  moral  atmosphere 
which  fasten  themselves  upon  us  if  we  are  predisposed  to  enter 
tain  them  ;  but  some  states  of  feeling  are  a  perfume  which 
every  sentient  being  must  perceive  with  emotions  that  vary 
from  extreme  repugnance  to  positive  pleasure  through  diverse 
intermediate  strata  of  lively  interest  or  mere  passive  percep 
tion  ;  and  the  feeling  which  emanated  from  Mrs.  Orton  Beg 
is  one  that  is  especially  contagious.  For,  in  the  first  place, 
the  beauty  of  goodness  appeals  pleasurably  to  the  most 
depraved  ;  to  be  elevated  above  themselves  for  a  moment  is  a 
rare  delight  to  them  ;  and,  in  the  second,  there  is  a  deeply 
implanted  leaning  in  the  heart  of  man  toward  the  something 
beyond  everything,  the  impalpable,  impossible,  imperceptible, 
which  he  cannot  know  and  will  not  credit,  but  is  nevertheless 
compelled  to  feel  in  some  of  his  moods,  or  in  certain  presences, 
and  having  once  felt,  finds  himself  fascinated  by  it,  and  so 
returns  to  the  subject  for  the  sake  of  the  sensation.  In  that 
long,  low  drawing  room  of  Mrs.  Orton  Beg's,  with  the  window 
at  either  end,  in  view  of  th^  gray  old  cathedral  towering  above 
the  gnarled  elms  of  the  Lower  Close,  itself  the  scene  of  every 
form  of  human  endeavour,  every  expression  of  human  passion, 
in  surroundings  so  heavy  with  memories  of  the  past,  and  lis 
tening  to  the  quiet  tone  of  conviction  in  which  Mrs.  Orton  Beg 
spoke,  with  the  double  charm  of  extreme  polish  and  simplicity 
combined — in  that  same  room  even  the  worldliest  had  found 
themselves  rise  into  the  ecstasy  of  the  higher  life,  spiritually 
freed  for  the  moment,  and  with  the  desire  to  go  forth  and  4Q 
great  deeds  of  love. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  7* 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  had  sat  idle  an  hour  looking  out  of  the  win 
dow,  her  mind  in  the  mood  for  music,  but  bare  of  thought. 

A  gale  was  blowing  without.  The  old  elms  in  the  Close  were 
tossing  their  stiff,  bare  arms  about,  the  ground  was  strewed 
with  branches  and  leaves  from  the  limes,  and  a  watery  wintry 
sun  made  the  misery  of  the  muddy  ground  apparent,  and 
accentuated  the  blight  of  the  flowers  and  torn  untidiness  of 
the  creepers,  and  all  the  items  which  make  autumn  gardens  so 
desolate.  The  equinoctial  gales  had  set  in  early  that  year. 
They  began  on  Evadne's  wedding  day  with  a  fearful  storm 
which  raged  all  over  the  country,  and  burst  with  especial  vio 
lence  upon  Morningquest,  and  the  wind  continued  high,  and 
showed  no  sign  of  abating.  It  was  depressing  weather,  and 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg  sighed  more  than  once  unconsciously. 

But  presently  the  cathedral  clock  began  to  strike,  and  she 
raised  her  head  to  listen.  One,  two,  three,  four,  the  round 
notes  fell ;  then  there  was  a  pause  ;  and  then  the  chime  rolled 
out  over  the  storm-stained  city  : 


£ 


He,  watch-ing  o-ver        Is  •  ra  •  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 

Mechanically  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  repeated  the  phrase  with  each 
note  as  it  floated  forth,  filling  the  silent  spaces  ;  and  then  she 
awoke  with  a  start  to  thought  once  more,  and  knew  that  she 
had  been  a  long,  long  time  alone. 

She  was  going  to  ring,  but  at  that  moment  a  servant  entered 
and  announced  :  "  Mrs.  and  Miss  Beale." 

They  were  the  wife  and  daughter  of  the  Bishop  of  Morning- 
quest,  the  one  a  very  pleasant,  attractive  elderly  lady,  the  other 
a  girl  of  seventeen,  like  her  mother,  but  with  more  character 
in  her  face. 

*'  Ah,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg 
exclaimed,  trying  to  rise,  "  and  what  a  delicious  breath  of 
fresh  air  you  have  brought  in  with  you  !  " 

"  My  dear  Olive,  don't  move,"  Mrs.  Beale  rejoined,  prevent 
ing  her.  "  We  have  been  nearly  blown  away  walking  this  short 
distance.  Just  look  at  Edith's  hair." 

"  I  feel  quite  tempest  tossed,"  said  Edith,  getting  up  and 
going  to  a  glass  before  which  she  removed  her  hat,  and  let 
down  her  hair,  which  was  the  colour  of.  burnished  brass,  and  fell 
to  her  knees  in  one  straight  heavy  coil  without  a  wave. 

"  You  remind  me  of  some  Saxon  Edith  I  have  seen  in  a 
picture,"  said  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  looking  at  her  admiringly. 


?2  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  But,  dear  child,"  her  mother  deprecated,  "  should  you 
make  a  dressing  room  of  the  drawing  room  ?  " 

"  I  know  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  will  pardon  me,"  said  Edith,  roll 
ing  her  hair  up  deftly  and  neatly  as  she  spoke,  with  the  air  of 
a  privileged  person  quite  at  home. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  smiled  at  her  affectionately  ;  but  before  she 
could  speak  the  door  opened  once  more,  and  the  servant 
announced  :  "  Lord  Davvne." 

And  there  entered  a  grave,  distinguished  looking  man  between 
thirty  and  forty  years  of  age,  apparently,  with  blade  hair,  and 
deep  blue  eyes  at  once  penetrating  and  winning  in  expres 
sion. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  greeted  him  with  pleasure,  Mrs.  Beale  with 
pleasure  also,  but  with  more  ceremony,  Edith  quite  simply  and 
naturally,  and  then  he  sat  down.  He  was  in  riding  dress,  with 
his  whip  and  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure.  I  did  not  know  you  were 
at  Morne,"  said  Mrs.  Orton  Beg.  "  Is  Claudia  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  only  come  for  a  few  days,"  Lord  Dawne 
replied.  "  I  came  to  see  Adeline  specially,  but  they  don't 
return  from  town  till  to-morrow.  They  have  all  been  assisting 
at  the  marriage  of  a  niece  of  yours,  I  hear,  and  the  Heavenly 
Twins  have  been  prolonging  the  festivities  on  their  own 
account.  Adeline  wrote  to  me  in  despair,  and  I  have  come  to 
see  if  I  can  be  of  any  use.  My  sister,"  he  added,  turning  to 
Mrs.  Beale  with  his  bright,  almost  boyish  smile,  which  was  like 
his  nephew  Diavolo's,  and  made  them  both  irresistible — "  my 
sister  flatters  herself  that  I  have  some  influence  with  the  chil 
dren,  and  as  it  is  quite  certain  that  nobody  else  has,  I  am  care 
ful  not  to  dispel  the  illusion.  It  is  a  comfort  to  her.  But  the 
twins  will  not  allow  me  to  deceive  myself  upon  that  head. 
They  put  me  in  my  place  every  time  I  see  them.  The  last 
time  we  had  a  serious  talk  together  I  noticed  that  Diavolo  was 
thinking  deeply,  and  hoped  for  a  moment  that  it  was  about 
what  I  was  saying ;  but  that,  apparently,  had  not  interested 
him  at  all,  for  I  had  the  curiosity  to  ask,  just  to  see  if  I  had, 
perchance,  made  any  impression,  and  discovered  that  he  had 
had  something  else  in  his  mind  the  whole  time.  '  I  was 
just  wondering,'  he  answered,  '  if  you  care  much  about 
being  Duke  of  Morningquest.'  *  No,  not  very  much,'  I 
assured  him  ;  *  why  ? '  '  Well,  I  was  pretty  certain  you  didn't,' 
he  replied  ;  '  and,  you  see,  /  do  ;  so  I  was  just  thinking 
couldn't  you  remain  as  you  are  when  grandpapa  dies,  and  let 


THE  HEAVENLY    T 'W 'INS.  73 

me  walk  into  the  title  ?  Then  I'd  give  Angelica  the  Hamilton 
House  property,  and  it  would  be  very  jolly  for  all  of  us/ 
'But,  look  here,'  Angelica  broke  in,  in  her  energetic  way,  'if 
you're  going  to  be  a  duke  I  won't  be  left  plain  Miss  Hamilton- 
Wells.'  '  You  couldn't  be  "  plain  "  Miss  anything,'  Diavolo 
gallantly  assured  her,  bowing  in  the  most  courtly  way.  But 
Angelica  said,  with  more  force  than  refinement,  that  that  was 
all  rot,  and  then  Diavolo  lost  his  temper  and  pulled  her  hair, 
and  she  got  hold  of  his  and  dragged  him  out  of  the  room  by 
his — my  presence  of  course  counted  for  nothing.  And  the  next 
I  saw  of  them  they  were  on  their  ponies  in  a  secluded  grassy 
glade  of  the  forest,  tilting  at  each  other  with  long  poles  for  the 
dukedom.  Angelica  says  she  means  to  beat  Demosthenes 
hollow — I  use  her  own  phraseology  to  give  character  to  the 
quotation  ;  that  delivering  orations  with  a  natural  inclination 
to  stammering  was  nothing  to  get  over  compared  to  the  dis 
abilities  which  being  a  girl  imposes  upon  her  ;  but  she  means 
to  get  over  them  all  by  hook,  which  she  explains  as  being  the 
proper  development  of  her  muscles  and  physique  generally, 
and  by  crook,  which  she  defines  as  circumventing  the  slave 
drivers  of  her  sex,  a  task  which  she  seems  to  think  can  easily 
be  accomplished  by  finessing." 

"And  what  was  the  last  thing  ?"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  inquired, 
smiling  indulgently. 

"  Oh,  that  was  very  simple,"  Lord  Dawne  rejoined.  "  Dia 
volo,  dressed  in  velvet,  was  caught  and  taken  up  by  a  police 
man  for  recklessly  driving  a  hansom  in  Oxford  Street,  Angelica 
being  inside  the  same  disguised  in  something  of  her  mother's." 

"  I  wonder  it  was  Angelica  who  went  inside  !  "  Mrs.  Orton 
Beg  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  that  was  what  her  mother  said,"  Lord  Dawne 
replied  ;  "  and  both  her  parents  seem  to  think  the  matter  was 
not  nearly  so  bad  as  it  might  have  been  in  consequence.  Mr. 
Hamilton-Wells  had  to  pay  a  fine  for  the  furious  driving,  and 
use  all  his  influence  with  the  Press  to  keep  the  thing  out  of 
the  papers." 

"  But  where  did  the  children  get  the  hansom  ? "  Mrs. 
Beale  begged  to  be  informed. 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  they  hailed  it  through  the  dining 
room  window,  and  plied  the  driver  with  raw  brandy  until  his 
venal  nature  gave  in  to  their  earnestly  persuasive  eloquence 
and  the  contents  of  their  purses,  and  he  consented  to  let 
Diavola  *  just  try  what  it  was  like  to  sit  up  on  that  high  box/ 


74  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS, 

Angelica  having  previously  got  inside,  and,  of  course,  the 
moment  the  young  scamp  had  the  reins  in  his  hands  he  drove 
off  full  tilt."' 

"  Oh,  dear,/tf<?r  Lady  Adeline  !  "  Mrs.  Beale  exclaimed. 

Lord  Dawne  smiled  again,  and  changed  the  subject.  "  Did 
you  feel  the  storm  much  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  My  trees  have 
suffered  a  great  deal,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"  Ah,  that  reminds  me,"  Mrs.  Beale  began.  "A  very  strange 
and  solemn  thing  happened  on  the  day  of  the  storm ;  have 
you  heard  of  it,  Olive  ?  " 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  answered  with  interest.  "  What 
was  it  ? " 

"  Well,  you  know  the  dean's  brother  has  a  large  family  of 
daughters,"  Mrs.  Beale  replied,  "  and  they  had  a  very  charm- 
ing  governess,  Miss  Winstanley,  a  lady  by  birth,  and  an 
accomplished  person,  and  extremely  spirituelle.  Well,  on  the 
morning  of  the  storm  she  was  sitting  at  work  with  one  of  her 
pupils  in  the  schoolroom,  when  another  came  in  from  the  gar 
den,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  when  she  saw  Miss 
Winstanley.  '  How  did  you  get  in,  and  take  your  things  off 
so  quickly  ? '  she  said.  '  I  have  not  been  out,'  Miss  Win- 
Stanley  answered.  "  Why,  I  saw  you — I  ran  past  you  over  by 
the  duck  pond!'  'Dear  child,  you  must  be  mistaken.  I  haven't 
been  out  to-day,'  the  governess  answered,  smiling.  Well,  that 
child  got  out  her  work  and  sat  down,  but  she  had  hardly  done 
so  when  another  came  in,  and  also  exclaimed  :  *  Oh,  Miss 
Winstanley  !  How  did  you  get  here  ?  I  saw  you  standing 
looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  bottom  of  the  picture  gallery 
as  I  ran  past  this  minute.'  *  I  must  have  a  double,'  said 
Miss  Winstanley  lightly.  'But  it  was  you,' the  child  insisted; 
*  I  saw  you  quite  well,  flowers  and  all.'  The  governess  was 
wearing  some  scarlet  geranium.  *  You  know  what  they  say  if 
people  are  seen  like  that  where  they  have  never  been  in  the 
body  ? '  she  said  jokingly .  '  They  say  it  is  a  sign  that  that 
person  is  going  to  die.'  In  the  afternoon,"  Mrs.  Beale  con 
tinued,  lowering  her  voice  and  glancing  round  involuntarily — 
and  in  the  momentary  pause  the  rush  of  the  gale  without 
sounded  obtrusively — "  in  the  afternoon  of  that  same  day  she 
went  out  alone  for  a  walk,  and  did  not  return,  and  they 
became  alarmed  at  last,  and  sent  some  men  to  search  for  her 
when  the  storm  was  at  its  height,  and  they  found  her  lying 
across  a  stile.  She  had  been  killed  by  the  branch  of  a  tree 
falling  on  her." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  75 

"  How  do  you  explain  that  ?"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  said  softly  to 
Lord  Dawne. 

"  I  should  not  attempt  to  explain  it,"  he  answered,  rising. 

"  Must  you  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  Claudia  and  Ideala  charged  me 
with  many  messages  for  you." 

"  They  are  together  as  usual,  and  well,  I  trust  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  «'  and  most  anxious  to  hear  a  better 
account  of  your  foot." 

"Ah,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  walk  soon,"  she  said,  holding  out 
her  hand  to  him. 

"  What  a  charming  man  he  is,"  Mrs.  Beale  remarked  when 
he  had  gone.  "  There  is  no  hope  of  his  marrying,  I  suppose," 
she  added,  trying  not  to  look  at  her  daughter. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  exclaimed  in  an  almost  horri 
fied  tone. 

Lord  Dawne's  friends  made  no  secret  of  his  grand  and  chiv 
alrous  devotion  to  the  distinguished  woman  known  to  them  all 
as  Ideala.  Every  one  of  them  was  aware,  although  he  had 
never  let  fall  a  word  on  the  subject,  that  he  had  remained 
single  on  her  account — every  one  but  Ideala  herself.  She  never 
suspected  it;  or  thought  of  love  at  all  in  connection  with  Lord 
Dawne — and,  besides,  she  was  married. 

When  her  friends  had  gone  that  day  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  sat 
long  in  the  gathering  dusk,  watching  the  newly  lighted  fire 
burn  up,  and  thinking.  She  was  thinking  of  Evadne  chiefly, 
wondering  why  she  had  had  no  news  of  her,  why  her  sister 
Elizabeth  did  not  write,  and  tell  her  all  about  the  wedding ; 
and  she  was  just  on  the  verge  of  anxiety — in  that  state  when 
various  possibilities  of  trouble  that  might  have  occurred  to 
account  for  delays  begin  to  present  themselves  to  the  mind, 
when  all  at  once,  without  hearing  anything,  she  became  con 
scious  of  a  presence  near  her,  and  looking  up  she  was  startled 
to  see  Evadne  herself. 

"  My  dear  child  !  "  she  gasped,  "  what  has  happened  ?  Why 
are  you  here  ?  " 

"  Nothing  has  happened,  auntie ;  don't  be  alarmed," 
Evadne  answered.  "  I  am  here  because  I  have  been  a 
fool." 

She  spoke  quietly  but  with  concentrated  bitterness,  then  sat 
down  and  began  to  take  off  her  gloves  with  that  exaggerated 
show  of  composure  which  is  a  sign  in  some  people  of  suppressed 
emotion^ 


76  THE  HEAVENLY   TWM&. 

Her  face  was  pale,  but  her  eyes  were  bright,  and  the  pupils 
were  dilated. 

"  I  have  come  to  claim  your  hospitality,  auntie,"  she  pur 
sued,  "  to  ask  you  for  shelter  from  the  world  for  a  few  days, 
because  I  have  been  a  fool.  May  I  stay  ?  " 

"  Surely,  dear  child,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  replied,  and  then  she 
waited,  mastering  the  nervous  tremor  into  which  the  shock  of 
Evadne's  sudden  appearance  had  thrown  her  with  admirable 
self-control.  And  here  again  the  family  likeness  between  aunt 
and  niece  was  curiously  apparent.  Both  masked  their  agita 
tion  because  both  by  temperament  were  shy,  and  ashamed  to 
show  strong  feeling. 

Evadne  looked  into  the  fire  for  a  little,  trying  to  collect  her 
self.  "  I  knew  what  was  right,"  she  began  at  last  in  a  low 
voice,  "  I  knew  we  should  take  nothing  for  granted,  we  should 
never  be  content  merely  to  feel  and  suppose  and  hope  for  the 
best  in  matters  about  which  we  should  know  exactly.  And 
yet  I  took  no  trouble  to  ascertain.  I  fell  in  love,  and  liked 
the  sensation,  and  gave  myself  up  to  it  unreservedly.  Cer 
tainly,  I  was  a  fool — there  is  no  other  word  for  it." 

"  But  are  you  married,  Evadne  ? "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  asked  in 
a  voice  rendered  unnatural  by  the  rapid  beating  of  her  heart. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  auntie,  all  about  it,"  Evadne  answered 
hoarsely.  She  drew  her  chair  a  little  closer  to  the  fire,  and 
spread  her  hands  out  to  the  blaze.  There  was  no  other  light 
in  the  room  by  this  time.  The  wind  without  howled  dismally 
still,  but  at  intervals,  as  if  with  an  effort.  During  one  of  its 
noisiest  bursts  the  cathedral  clock  began  to  strike,  and  hushed 
it,  as  it  were,  suddenly.  It  seemed  to  be  listening,  to  be  wait 
ing,  and  Evadne  waited  and  listened  too,  raising  her  head. 
There  was  a  perceptible,  momentary  pause,  then  came  the 
chime,  full,  round,  mournful,  melodious,  yet  glad  too,  in  the 
strength  of  its  solemn  assurance,  filling  the  desolate  regions 
of  sorrow  and  silence  with  something  of  hope  whereon  the 
weary  mind  might  repose  : 
Jt_  * 


8*- 

^ 

T3» 

=N^ 

n 

***= 

5= 

He,  watch-ing  o-ver        Is  -  ra  -  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 

When  the  last  reverberation  of  the  last  note  had  melted  out 
of  hearing,  Evadne  sighed  ;  then  'she  straightened  herself,  as 
if  collecting  her  energy,  and  began  to  speak. 

"  Yes,  I  am  married,"  she  said,  "  but  when  I  went  to  change 
iny  dress  after  the  ceremony  I  found  this  letter.  It  was 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  77 

intended,  you  see,  to  reach  me  some  days  before  it  did,  but 
unfortunately  it  was  addressed  to  Fraylinga)%  and  time  was 
lost  in  forwarding  it."  She  handed  it  to  her  aunt,  who  raised 
her  eyebrows  when  she  saw  the  writing,  as  if  she  recognized 
it,  hastily  drew  the  letter  from  its  envelope,  and  held  it  so  that 
the  blaze  fell  upon  it  while  she  read.  Evadne  knelt  on  the 
hearthrug,  and  stirred  the  fire,  making  it  burn  up  brightly. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  returned  the  letter  to  the  envelope  when 
she  had  read  it.  **  What  did  you  do  ? "  she  said. 

"  I  read  it  before  I  went  downstairs,  and  at  first  I  could  not 
think  what  to  do,  so  we  drove  off  together,  but  on  the  way  to 
the  station  it  suddenly  flashed  upon  me  that  the  proper  thing 
to  do  would  be  to  go  at  once  and  hear  all  that  there  was  to 
tell,  and  fortunately  Major  Colquhoun  gave  me  an  opportu 
nity  of  getting  away  without  any  dispute.  He  went  to  see 
about  something,  leaving  me  in  the  carnage,  and  I  just  got 
out,  walked  round  the  station,  took  a  hansom,  and  drove  off  to 
the  General  Post  Office  to  telegraph  to  my  people." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  go  home  ?  " 

"  For  several  reasons,"  Evadne  answered,  "  the  best  being 
that  I  never  thought  of  going  home.  I  wanted  to  be  alone 
and  think.  I  fancied  that  at  home  they  either  could  not  or 
would  not  tell  me  anything  of  Major  Colquhoun's  past  life, 
and  I  was  determined  to  know  the  truth  exactly.  And  I  can't 
tell  you  how  many  sayings  of  my  father's  recurred  to  me 
all  at  once  with  a  new  significance,  and  made  me  fear  that 
there  was  some  difference  between  his  point  of  view  and 
mine  on  the  subject  of  a  suitable  husband.  He  told  me  him 
self  that  Major  Colquhoun  had  been  quite  frank  about  his 
past  career,  and  then,  when  I  came  to  think,  it  appeared  to  me 
clearly  that  it  was  the  frankness  which  had  satisfied  my 
father ;  the  career  itself  was  nothing.  You  heard  how  pleased 
they  were  about  my  engagement  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  answered  slowly,  "  and  I  confess  I 
was  a  little  surprised  when  I  heard  from  your  mother  that 
your  fianct  had  been  '  wild  '  in  his  youth,  for  I  remembered 
some  remarks  you  made  last  year  about  the  kind  of  man  you 
would  object  to  marry,  and  it  seemed  to  me  from  the  descrip 
tion  that  Major  Colquhoun  was  very  much  that  kind  of  man." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  warn  me?  "  Evadne  exclaimed. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  quite  thought  it  was  a  subject  for 
warning,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  answered,  "  and  at  any  rate,  girls 
^o  talk  in  that  way  sometimes,  not  really  meaning  it.  I  thought 


78  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

it  was  mere  youngness  on  your  part,  and  theory  ;  and  I  don't 
know  now  whether  I  quite  approve  of  your  having  been  told — 
of  this  new  departure,"  she  added,  indicating  the  letter. 

"/do,"  said  Evadne  decidedly.  "  I  would  stop  the  imposi- 
tion,  approved  of  custom,  connived  at  by  parents,  made  pos 
sible  by  the  state  of  ignorance  in  which  we  are  carefully  kept 
— the  imposition  upon  a  girl's  innocence  and  inexperience  of 
a  disreputable  man  for  a  husband." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  startled  by  this  bold  assertion,  which 
was  so  unprecedented  in  her  experience  that  for  a  moment 
she  could  not  utter  a  word  ;  and  when  she  did  speak  she 
avoided  a  direct  reply,  because  she  thought  any  discussion 
on  the  subject  of  marriage,  except  from  the  sentimental  point 
of  view,  was  indelicate. 

"  But  tell  me  your  position  exactly,"  she  begged — "  what 
you  did  next  :  why  you  are  here  !  " 

"  I  went  by  the  night  mail  North,"  Evadne  answered,  "  and 
saw  them.  They  were  very  kind.  They  told  me  everything. 
I  can't  repeat  the  details  ;  they  disgust  me." 

"  No,  pray  don't !  "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  exclaimed  hastily. 
She  had  no  mind  for  anything  unsavoury. 

"  They  had  been  abroad,  you  know,"  Evadne  pursued  ; 
"  Otherwise  I  should  have  heard  from  them  as  soon  as  the 
engagement  was  announced.  They  hoped  to  be  in  time,  how 
ever.  They  had  no  idea  the  marriage  would  take  place  so 
soon." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  reflected  for  a  little,  and  then  she  asked  in 
evident  trepidation,  for  she  had  more  than  a  suspicion  of  what 
the  reply  would  be  :  "  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Decline  to  live  with  him,"  Evadne  answered. 

This  was  what  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  had  begun  to  suspect,  but 
there  is  often  an  element  of  surprise  in  the  confirmation  of  our 
shrewdest  suspicions,  and  now  she  sat  upright,  leant  forward, 
and  looked  at  her  niece  aghast.  "What?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I  shall  decline  to  live  with  him,"  Evadne  repeated  with 
emphasis. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  slowly  resumed  her  reclining  position,  acting 
as  one  does  who  has  heard  the  worst,  and  realizes  that  there 
is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  recover  from  the  shock. 

"  I  thought  you  loved  him,"  she  ventured,  after  a  prolonged 
pause. 

"  Yes,  so  did  I,"  Evadne  answered,  frowning — "  but  I  was 
mistaken.  It  was  a  mere  affair  of  the  senses,  to  be  put  off  fry 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.}  79 

the  first  circumstance  calculated  to  cause  a  revulsion  of  feeling 
by  lowering  him  in  my  estimation — a  thing  so  slight  that,  after 
reading  the  letter,  as  we  drove  to  the  station — even  so  soon  ! 
I  could  see  him  as  he  is.  I  noticed  at  once — but  it  was  for 
the  first  time — I  noticed  that,  although  his  face  is  handsome, 
the  expression  of  it  is  not  noble  at  all."  She  shuddered  as  at 
the  sight  of  something  repulsive.  "  You  see,"  she  explained, 
"  my  taste  is  cultivated  to  so  fine  an  extent,  I  require  some 
thing  extremely  well-flavoured  for  the  dish  which  is  to  be  the 
pihe  de  resistance  of  my  life-feast.  My  appetite  is  delicate,  it 
requires  to  be  tempted,  and  a  husband  of  that  kind,  a  moral 
leper  " — she  broke  off  with  a  gesture,  spreading  her  hands, 
palms  outward,  as  if  she  would  fain  put  some  horrid  idea  far 
from  her.  "  Besides,  marrying  a  man  like  that,  allowing  him 
an  assured  position  in  society,  is  countenancing  vice,  and  " — 
she  glanced  round  apprehensively,  then  added  in  a  fearful 
whisper — "  helping  to  spread  it." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  knew  in  her  head  that  reason  and  right 
were  on  Evadne's  side,  but  she  felt  in  her  heart  the  full  force  ' 
of  the  custom  and  prejudice  that  would  be  against  her,  and  ^ 
shrank  appalled  by  the  thought  of  what  the  cruel  struggle  to 
come  must  be  if  Evadne  persisted  in  her  determination.  In 
view  of  this,  she  sat  up  in  her  chair  once  more  energetically, 
prepared  to  do  her  best  to  dissuade  her  ;  but  then  again  she 
relapsed,  giving  in  to  a  doubt  of  her  own  capacity  to  advise 
in  such  an  emergency,  accompanied  by  a  sudden  and  involun 
tary  feeling  of  respect  for  Evadne's  principles,  however  pecu 
liar  and  unprecedented  they  might  be,  and  for  the  strength  of 
character  which  had  enabled  her  so  far  to  act  upon  them. 
"  You  must  obey  your  own  conscience,  Evadne,"  was  what  she 
found  herself  saying  at  last.  "  I  will  help  you  to  do  that.  I 
would  rather  not  influence  you.  You  may  be  right.  I  cannot 
be  sure — and  yet — I  don't  agree  with  you.  For  I  know  if  I 
could  have  my  husband  back  with  me,  I  would  welcome  him, 
even  if  he  were — a  leper."  Evadne  compressed  her  lips  in 
steady  disapproval.  "  I  should  think  only  of  his  future.  I 
should  forgive  the  past." 

"  That  is  the  mistake  you  good  women  all  make,"  said 
Evadne.  "  You  set  a  detestably  bad  example.  So  long  as 
women  like  you  will  forgive  anything,  men  will  do  anything. 
You  have  it  in  your  power  to  set  up  a  high  standard  of  excel 
lence  for  men  to  reach  in  order  to  have  the  privilege  of  asso 
ciating  with  you.  There  is  this  quality  in  men,  that  they  will 


8o  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

have  the  best  of  everything  ;  and  if  the  best  wives  are  only  to 
be  obtained  by  being  worthy  of  them,  they  will  strive  to  become 
so.  As  it  is,  however,  why  should  they  ?  Instead  of  punish 
ing  them  for  their  depravity,  you  encourage  them  in  it  by  over 
looking  it ;  and  besides,"  she  added,  "  you  must  know  that 
there  is  no  past  in  the  matter  of  vice.  The  consequences 
become  hereditary,  and  continue  from  generation  to  genera 
tion." 

Again  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  felt  herself  checked. 

"Where  did  you  hear  all  this,  Evadne  !  "  she  asked. 

"  I  never  heard  it.  I  read — and  I  thought,"  she  answered. 
"But  I  am  only  now  beginning  to  understand,"  she  added. 
"  I  suppose  moral  axioms  are  always  the  outcome  of  pained 
reflection.  Knowledge  cries  to  us  in  vain  as  a  rule  before 
experience  has  taken  the  sharp  edge  off  our  egotism — by 
experience,  I  mean  the  addition  of  some  personal  feeling  to 
our  knowledge." 

"  I  don't  understand  you  in  the  least,  Evadne,"  Mrs.  Orton 
Beg  replied. 

"  Your  husband  was  a  good  man,"  Evadne  answered  indi 
rectly.  "  You  have  never  thought  about  what  a  woman 
ought  to  do  who  has  married  a  bad  one — in  an  emergency  like 
mine,  that  is.  You  think  I  should  act  as  women  have  been 
always  advised  to  act  in  such  cases,  that  I  should  sacrifice 
myself  to  save  that  one  man's  soul.  I  take  a  different  view  of 
it.  I  see  that  the  world  is  not  a  bit  the  better  for  centuries  of 
self-sacrifice  on  the  woman's  part  and  therefore  I  think  it  is 
time  we  tried  a  more  effectual  plan.  And  I  propose  now  to 
sacrifice  the  man  instead  of  the  woman." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  silent. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me,  auntie?"  Evadne  asked 
at  last,  caressingly. 

"I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  talk  so,  Evadne.  Every  word 
you  say  seems  to  banish  something — something  from  this  room 
— something  from  my  life  to  which  I  cling.  I  think  it  is  my 
faith  in  love — and  loving.  You  may  be  right,  but  yet — the 
consequences  !  the  struggle,  if  we  must  resist !  It  is  best  to 
submit.  It  is  better  not  to  know." 

"  It  is  easier  to  submit — yes  ;  it  is  disagreeable  to  know," 
Evadne  translated. 

There  was  another  pause,  then  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  broke  out : 
"  Don't  make  me  think  about  it.  Surely  I  have  suffered 
enough  ?  Disagreeable  to  know  !  It  is  torture.  If  I  ever  let 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  l 

myself  dwell  on  the  horrible  depravity  that  goes  on  unchecked, 
the  depravity  which  you  say  we  women  license  by  ignoring  it 
when  we  should  face  and  unmask  it,  I  should  go  out  of  my 
mind.  I  do  know — we  all  know  ;  how  can  we  live  and  not 
know  ?  But  we  don't  think  about  it — we  can't — we  daren't. 
See  !  I  try  always  to  keep  my  own  mind  in  one  attitude,  to 
keep  it  filled  for  ever  with  holy  and  beautiful  thoughts.  When 
I  am  alone,  I  listen  for  the  chime,  and  when  I  have  repeated 
it  to  myself  slowly — 

He,  watching  over  Israel,  slumbers  not  nor  sleeps — 

my  heart  swells.  I  leave  all  that  is  inexplicable  to  Him,  and 
thank  him  for  the  love  and  the  hope  with  which  he  feeds  my 
heart  and  keeps  it  from  hardening.  I  thank  him  too,"  she 
went  on  hoarsely,  "  for  the  terrible  moments  when  I  feel  my 
loss  afresh,  those  early  morning  moments,  when  the  bright  sun 
shine  and  the  beauty  of  all  things  only  make  my  own  barren 
life  look  all  the  more  bare  in  its  loneliness  ;  when  my  soul 
struggles  to  free  itself  from  the  shackles  of  the  flesh  that  it 
may  spread  its  wings  to  meet  that  other  soul  which  made  earth 
heaven  for  me  here,  and  will,  I  know,  make  all  eternity  ecsta 
tic  as  a  dream  for  me  hereafter.  It  is  good  to  suffer,  yes  ; 
but  surely  I  suffer  enough  ?  My  husband — if  I  cry  to  him,  he 
will  not  hear  me  ;  if  I  go  down  on  my  knees  beside  his  grave, 
and  dig  my  arms  in  deep,  deep,  I  shall  not  reach  him.  I  can- 
not  raise  him  up  again  to  caress  him,  or  move  the  cruel  weight 
of  earth  from  off  his  breast.  The  voice  that  was  always  kind 
will  gladden  me  no  more  ;  the  arms  that  were  so  willing  to 
protect — the  world — just  think  how  big  it  is  !  and  if  I  traverse 
it  every  yard,  I  shall  not  find  him.  He  is  not  anywhere  in  all 
this  huge  expanse.  Ah,  God  !  the  agony  of  yearning,  the 
ache,  the  ache  ;  why  must  I  live  ?  " 

"  Auntie  !  "  Evadne  cried.  "  I  am  selfish."  She  knelt  down 
beside  her  and  held  her  hand.  "  I  have  made  you  think  of 
your  own  irreparable  loss,  compared  with  which  I  know  my 
trouble  is  so  small.  Forgive  me." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  put  her  arms  round  the  girl's  neck  and 
kissed  her  :  "  Forgive  me"  she  said.  "  I  am  so  weak,  Evadne, 
and  you — ah  !  you  are  strong." 


82  THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Fraylings  had  sent  their  children  and  the  majority  of 
X  their  servants  back  to  Fraylingay  the  day  after  the  wed 
ding,  but  had  decided  to  stay  in  London  themselves  with 
Major  Colquhoun  until  Evadne  wrote  to  relieve  their  anxiety, 
which  was  extreme,  and  gave  them  some  information  about 
her  movements  and  intentions. 

Mr.  Frayling  spent  most  of  the  interval  in  prancing  up  and 
down.  He  recollected  all  his  past  grievances,  real  and  imag 
inary,  and  recounted  them,  and  also  speculated  about  those 
that  were  to  come,  and  mentioned  the  number  of  things  he  was 
always  doing  for  everybody,  the  position  he  had  to  keep  up 
and  consider  for  the  sake  of  his  family,  the  scandal  there  would 
be  if  this  story  got  about  ;  and  described  in  one  breath  both 
his  determination  to  hush  it  up,  and  his  conviction  that  it 
would  be  utterly  impossible  to  do  so.  Whenever  the  postman 
knocked  he  went  to  the  door  to  look  for  a  letter,  and  coming 
back  empty-handed  each  time,  he  invariably  remarked  that  it 
was  disgraceful,  simply  disgraceful,  and  he  had  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing  in  all  his  life.  There  was  blame  and  severity  in 
his  attitude  toward  poor  Mrs.  Frayling  ;  he  seemed  to  insin 
uate  that  she  might  and  should  have  done  something  to  prevent 
all  this  ;  while  there  was  a  mixture  of  sympathy,  deprecation, 
and  apology  in  his  manner  to  his  son-in-law,  combined  with  a 
certain  air  of  absolving  himself  from  all  responsibility  in  the 
matter. 

Major  Colquhoun's  own  attitude  was  wholly  enigmatical. 
He  smoked  cigars,  read  novels,  and  said  nothing  except  in 
answer  to  such  remarks  as  were  specially  addressed  to  him, 
and  then  he  confined  himself  to  the  shortest  and  simplest  form 
of  rejoinder  possible. 

"  The  dear  fellow's  patience  is  exemplary,"  Mrs.  Frayling  re 
marked  to  her  husband  as  they  went  to  bed  one  night.  "  He 
conceals  his  own  feelings  quite,  and  never  utters  a  complaint." 

"  Humph  !  "  grunted  Mr.  Frayling,  who  scented  some  re 
proach  in  this  remark  ;  "  if  the  dear  fellow  does  not  suffer 
)rom  impatience,  and  has  no  feelings  to  conceal,  it  is  not  much 
marvel  if  he  utters  no  complaint.  I  believe  he  doesn't  care  a 
rap,  and  is  only  thinking  of  how  to  get  out  of  the  whole  busi 
ness." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  how  dreadful  /"    Mrs.  Frayling  exclaimed. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  83 

*  1  am  sure  you  are  quite  mistaken.  You  don't  understand 
him  at  all." 

Mr.  Frayling  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  snorted.  He 
despised  feminine  conclusions  too  much  to  reply  to  them,  but 
not  nearly  enough  to  be  wholly  unmoved  by  them. 

Mrs.  Frayling  spent  the  three  days  in  sitting  still,  embroid 
ering  silk  flowers  on  a  satin  ground,  and  watering  them  well 
with  her  tears.  But  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  by  the 
first  post,  letters  arrived  which  put  an  end  to  their  suspense. 
One  was  from  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  and  the  other  from  Evadne 
herself.  Mrs.  Frayling  read  them  aloud  at  the  breakfast  table, 
and  the  three  sat  for  an  hour  in  solemn  conclave,  considering 
them. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  had  had  time  to  recover  herself  and  reflect 
before  she  wrote,  and  the  consequence  was  some  modification 
of  her  first  impression. 

"  MY  DEAR  ELIZABETH  : 

"Evadne  is  here  ;  she  arrived  this  afternoon.  On  her  wed 
ding  day  she  received  a  letter  from  a  lady,  whose  name  I  am 
not  allowed  to  mention  here,  but  written  under  the  impression 
that  Evadne  was  being  kept  in  ignorance  of  Major  Colqu- 
houn's  past  life,  and  offering  to  give  her  any  information  that 
had  been  withheld  so  that  she  might  not  be  blindly  entrapped 
into  marrying  him  under  the  delusion  that  he  was  a  worthy 
man.  The  letter  arrived  too  late,  but  Evadne  went  off  never 
theless  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  to  make  further  inquiries, 
the  result  of  which  is  great  indignation  on  her  part  for  having 
been  allowed  to  marry  a  man  of  such  antecedents,  and  a  deter 
mination  not  to  live  with  him.  She  wishes  to  stay  here  with 
me  for  the  present,  and  I  am  very  glad  to  have  her.  I  give 
her  an  asylum,  but  I  shall  not  speak  a  word  to  influence  her 
decision  in  any  way  if  I  can  help  it.  It  is  a  matter  of  con 
science  with  her,  and  I  perceive  that  her  moral  consciousness 
and  mine  are  not  quite  the  same  ;  but  in  the  present  state  of  my 
ignorance,  I  feel  that  it  would  be  presumption  on  my  part  to 
set  my  own  up  as  superior,  and  therefore  I  think  it  better  not 
to  interfere  in  any  way. 

"  You  need  not  be  in  the  least  anxious  about  Evadne.  She  is 
quite  well,  has  an  excellent  appetite,  and  is  not  at  all  inclined 
to  pose  as  a  martyr.  I  confess  I  should  have  thought  myself 
she  would  have  suffered  more  in  the  first  days  of  her  disillusion, 
for  she  certainly  was  very  much  in  love  with  Major  Colquhoun; 


84  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

but  her  principles  are  older  than  her  acquaintance  with  him, 
and  ingrained  principle  is  a  force  superior  to  passion,  it  seems 
— which  is  as  it  should  be. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you  all,  and  for  you  especially,  dear,  in  this 
dilemma,  for  I  know  how  you  will  feel  it  ;  and  I  am  the  more 
sorry  because  I  cannot  say  a  single  word  which  would  relieve 
the  state  of  perplexity  you  must  be  in,  or  be  in  any  way  a  com 
fort  to  you. 

"  Your  loving  sister, 

"  OLIVE  ORTON  BEG." 

Evadne's  letter  ran  thus  : 

"  THE  CLOSE,  MORNINGQUEST,  4th  October. 
"  MY  DEAR  FATHER  AND  MOTHER  : 

"  Aunt  Olive  has  kindly  written  to  tell  you  exactly  why  I  am 
here,  so  that  my  letter  need  only  be  a  supplement  to  hers.  For 
whatever  trouble  and  anxiety  I  may  have  caused  you,  forgive 
me.  The  thought  of  it  will  be  a  pang  to  me  as  long  as  I  live. 

"  Since  I  left  you  I  have  been  fully  informed  of  circum 
stances  in  Major  Colquhoun's  past  career  which  make  it  im 
possible  for  me  to  live  with  him  as  his  wife.  I  find  that  I 
consented  to  marry  him  under  a  grave  misapprehension  of  his 
true  character — that  he  is  not  at  all  a  proper  person  for  a  young 
girl  to  associate  with,  and  that  in  point  of  fact  his  mode  of 
life  has  very  much  resembled  that  of  one  of  those  old-fashioned 
heroes,  Roderick  Random  or  Tom  Jones,  specimens  of  humanity 
whom  I  hold  in  peculiar  and  especial  detestation. 

"  I  consider  I  should  be  wanting  in  all  right  feeling  if  I  held 
myself  bound  to  him  by  vows  which  I  took  in  my  ignorance  of 
his  history.  But  I  am  afraid  there  will  be  some  difficulty 
about  the  legal  business.  Kindly  find  out  for  me  what  will  be 
the  best  arrangement  to  make  for  our  separation,  and  tell  me 
also  if  I  ought  to  write  to  Major  Colquhoun  myself.  I  should 
like  it  better  if  my  father  would  relieve  me  of  this  dreadful 
necessity. 

"  Until  we  have  arranged  matters,  I  should  prefer  to  stay 
here  with  Aunt  Olive.  I  am  very  well,  and  happier  too,  than 
I  should  have  expected  to  be  after  the  shock  of  such  a  disap 
pointment,  though  perhaps  less  so  than  I  ought  in  gratitude  to 
be,  considering  the  merciful  deliverance  I  have  had  from  what 
would  have  been  the  shipwreck  of  my  life. 

"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  EVADNE." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  85 

"  Good  Heavens  !  good  Heavens  ! "  Mr.  Frayling  ejaculated 
several  times. 

Major  Colquhoun  had  curled  his  moustache  during  the 
reading  of  the  letter,  with  the  peculiar  set  expression  of 
countenance  he  was  in  the  habit  of  assuming  to  mask  his 
emotions. 

"  What  language  !  what  ideas  !  "  Mr.  Frayling  proceeded. 
"  I  have  been  much  deceived  in  that  unhappy  child,"  and  he 
shook  his  head  at  his  wife  severely,  as  if  it  were  her  fault. 

Major  Colquhoun  muttered  something  about  having  been 
taken  in  himself. 

After  the  reading  of  the  letter,  Mrs.  Frayling's  comely  plump 
face  looked  drawn  and  haggard.  She  could  not  utter  a  word 
at  first,  and  had  even  exhausted  her  stock  of  tears.  All  at 
once,  however,  she  recovered  her  voice,  and  gave  sudden 
utterance  to  a  determination, 

"  I  must  go  to  that  child  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  must — I  must 
go  at  once." 

"  You  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  her  husband  thundered.  He 
had  no  reason  in  the  world  for  opposing  the  motherly  impulse; 
but  it  relieves  the  male  of  certain  species  to  roar  when  he  is 
irritated,  and  the  relief  is  all  the  greater  when  he  finds  some 
sentient  creature  to  roar  at,  that  will  shrink  from  the  noise, 
and  be  awed  by  it. 

Mrs.  Frayling  looked  up  at  him  pathetically,  then  riveted 
her  eyes  upon  the  tablecloth,  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro, 
but  answered  never  a  word. 

Major  Colquhoun,  with  the  surface  sympathy  of  sensual 
men,  who  resent  anything  that  produces  a  feeling  of  discom 
fort  in  themselves,  felt  sorry  for  her,  and  relieved  the  tension 
by  asking  what  was  to  be  said  in  reply  to  Evadne's  letter. 

This  led  to  a  discussion  of  the  subject,  which  was  sum 
marily  ended  by  Mr.  Frayling,  who  deputed  to  his  wife  the 
task  of  answering  the  letter,  without  allowing  her  any  choice 
in  the  matter.  It  was  never  his  way  to  do  anything  disagree 
able  if  he  could  insist  upon  her  doing  it  for  him. 

But  Mrs.  Frayling  was  nothing  loth  upon  this  occasion. 

u  Well,"  she  began  humbly,  "  I  undertake  the  task  since 
you  wish  it,  but  I  should  have  thought  a  word  from  you  would 
have  gone  further  than  anything  I  can  say.  However," — she 
ventured  to  lift  a  hopeful  head, — "  I  have  certainly  always 
been  able  to  manage  Evadne," — she  turned  to  Major  Colqu 
houn, — "  I  can  assure  you,  George,  that  child  has  never  given 


&6  THE  HEAVENLy  TWINS. 

me  a  moment's  anxiety  in  her  life  ;  and," — she  added  in  a 
broken  voice, — "  I  never,  never  thought  that  she  would  live 
to  quote  books  to  her  parents." 

Mr.  Frayling  found  in  his  own  inclinations  a  reason  for 
everything.  He  was  very  tired  of  being  shut  up  in  London, 
and  he  therefore  decided  that  they  should  go  back  to  Fray- 
lingay  at  once,  and  suggested  that  Major  Colquhoun  should 
follow  them  in  a  few  days  if  Evadne  had  not  in  the  meantime 
come  to  her  senses.  Major  Colquhoun  agreed  to  this.  He 
would  have  hidden  himself  anywhere,  done  anything  to  keep 
his  world  in  ignorance  of  what  had  befallen  him.  Even  a 
man's  independence  is  injured  by  excesses.  As  the  tissues 
waste,  the  esteem  of  men  is  fawned  for  instead  of  being 
honestly  earned,  criticism  is  deprecated,  importance  is  at 
tached  to  the  babbling  of  blockheads,  and  even  to  the  opinion 
of  fools.  What  should  have  been  self-respect  in  Major 
Colquhoun  had  degenerated  into  a  devouring  vanity,  which 
rendered  him  thin-skinned  to  the  slightest  aspersion.  He 
had  married  Evadne  in  order  to  win  the  credit  of  having 
secured  an  exceptionally  young  and  attractive  wife,  and  now 
all  he  thought  of  was  "  what  fellows  would  say  "  if  they  knew 
of  the  slight  she  had  put  upon  him.  To  conceal  this  was  the 
one  object  of  his  life  at  present,  the  thought  that  forever 
absorbed  him. 

Mr.  Frayling  felt  that  it  would  be  a  relief  to  get  away  from 
his  son-in-law:  "If  the  fellow  would  only  speak!"  he  ex 
claimed  when  he  was  alone  with  his  wife.  "  What  the  deuce 
he's  always  thinking  about  I  can't  imagine." 

"  He  is  in  great  grief,"  Mrs.  Frayling  maintained. 

As  soon  as  she  was  settled  at  Fraylingay  she  wrote  to 
Evadne : 

"  MY  POOR  MISGUIDED  CHILD  : 

"  Your  whole  action  since  your  marriage  and  your  extraor 
dinary  resolution  have  occasioned  your  dear  father,  your  poor 
husband,  and  myself  the  very  greatest  anxiety  and  pain.  We 
have  grave  fears  for  your  sanity.  I  have  never  in  my  life 
heard  of  a  young  lady  acting  in  such  a  way.  Your  poor  hus 
band  has  been  very  sweet  and  good  all  through  this  dreadful 
trial.  He  very  much  fears  the  ridicule  which  of  course  would 
attach  to  him  if  his  brother  officers  hear  what  has  happened  ; 
but  so  far,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  no  inkling  of  the  true  state 
of  the  case  has  leaked  out.  The  servants  talk,  of  course,  but 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  87 

they  know  nothing.  What  they  suspect,  however,  is,  I  believe, 
that  you  have  gone  out  of  your  mind,  and  I  even  ventured  to 
suggest  something  of  the  kind  to  Jenny,  who,  after  all  these 
years,  is  naturally  concerned  at  the  sight  of  my  deep  distress. 
I  assure  you  I  have  taken  nothing  since  your  letter  arrived 
but  a  little  tea.  So  do,  dear  child,  end  this  distressing  state 
of  things  by  returning  to  your  right  state  of  mind  at  once. 
You  are  a  legally  married  woman,  and  you  must  obey  the  law 
of  the  land  ;  but  of  course  your  husband  would  rather  not 
invoke  the  law  and  make  a  public  scandal  if  he  can  help  it. 
He  does  not  wish  to  force  your  inclinations  in  any  way,  and  he 
therefore  generously  gives  you  more  time  to  consider.  In  fact 
he  says:  '  She  must  come  back  of  her  own  free  will.'  *  And 
he  is  as  ready,  I  am  sure,  as  your  father  and  myself  are,  to 
forgive  you  freely  for  all  the  trouble  and  anxiety  you  have 
caused  him,  and  is  waiting  to  welcome  you  to  his  heart  and 
home  with  open  arms. 

"  And,  Evadne,  remember  :  a  woman  has  it  in  her  power  to 
change  even  a  reprobate  into  a  worthy  man — and  I  know  from 
the  way  George  talks  that  he- is  far  from  being  a  reprobate  now. 
And  just  think  what  a  work  that  is  !  The  angels  in  heaven 
rejoice  over  the  sinner  that  repents,  and  you  have  before  you 
a  sphere  of  action  which  it  should  gladden  your  heart  to  con 
template.  I  don't  deny  that  there  were  things  in  George's 
past  life  which  it  is  very  sad  to  think  of,^but  women  have 
always  much  to  bear.^i  It  is  our  cross,  and  you  must  take  up 
yours  patiently  and  be  sure  that  you  will  have  your  reward. 
Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth.  I  wish  now  that  I  had 
talked  to  you  on  the  subject  before  you  were  married,  and 
prepared  you  to  meet  some  forms  of  wickedness  in  a  proper 
spirit ;  you  would  not  then  have  been  at  the  mercy  of  the 
wicked  woman  who  has  caused  all  this  mischief.  She  is  some 
clever  designing  adventuress,  I  suppose,  and  she  must  have 
told  you  dreadful  things  which  you  should  never  have  heard 
of  at  your  age,  and  I  suspect  that  jealousy  is  at  the  bottom  of 
it  all.  She  may  herself  have  been  cast  off  in  her  wickedness 
for  my  own  sweet  innocent  child's  sake.  When  I  think  of  all 
the  happiness  she  has  destroyed,  of  these  dark  days  following 
such  bright  prospects,  I  could  see  her  whipped,  Evadne,  I  could 
indeed.  Everything  had  arranged  itself  so  beautifully.  He 

*What  he  did  say  exactly  was  :  "She  wen-',  of  her  own  accord,  and  she 
must  come  back  of  her  own  accord,  or  not  at  all.  Just  as  she  likes.  /  shall 
not  trouble  about  her." 


88  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

is  an  excellent  match.  The  Irish  property,  which  he  must 
have,  is  one  of  the  best  in  the  country,  and  as  there  is  only  one 
fragile  child  between  him  and  the  Scotch  estates,  you  might 
almost  venture  to  calculate  upon  becoming  mistress  of  them 
also.  And  then,  he  certainly  is  a  handsome  and  attractive 
man  of  most  charming  manners,  so  what  more  do  you  want  ? 
He  is  a  good  Churchman  too.  You  know  how  regularly  he 
accompanied  you  to  every  service.  And,  really  if  you  will  just 
think  for  a  moment,  I  am  sure  you  will  see  yourself  that  you 
have  made  a  terrible  mistake,  and  repent  while  it  is  called  to 
day.  But  we  do  not  blame  you  entirely,  dear.  You  have  sur 
prised  and  distressed  us,  but  we  all  freely  forgive  you,  and  if 
you  will  come  back  at  once,  you  need  fear  no  reproaches,  for 
not  another  word  will  ever  be  said  on  the  subject. — I  am,  dear 
child, 

"  Ever  your  loving  mother, 

"  ELIZABETH  FRAYLING." 

"  P.  S. — Your  father  is  so  horrified  at  your  conduct  that  he 
declares  he  will  neither  write  to  JK>U  nor  speak  to  you  until 
you  return  to  your  duty." 

Evadne  took  a  day  and  a  half  to  consider  her  mother's 
letter,  and  then  she  wrote  the  following  reply  : 

"  THE  CLOSE,  MORNINGQUEST,  pth  October. 
"  MY  DEAR  MOTHER  : 

"I  answer  your  postscript  first,  because  I  am  cut  to  the 
quick  by  my  father's  attitude.  I  was  sure  that,  large-minded 
and  just  as  I  have  always  thought  him,  he  would  allow  that  a 
woman  is  entitled  to  her  own  point  of  view  in  a  matter  which, 
to  begin  with,  concerns  her  own  happiness  more  than  any 
body  else's,  and  that  if  she  accepts  a  fallen  angel  for  a  husband, 
knowing  him  to  be  such,  she  shows  a  poor  appreciation  of  her 
own  worth.  I  am  quite  ready  to  rejoice  over  any  sinner  that 
repents  if  I  may  rejoice  as  the  angels  themselves  do,  that  is  to 
say,  at  a  safe  distance.  I  would  not  be  a  stumbling  block  in 
the  way  of  any  man's  reformation.  I  only  maintain  that  I  am 
not  the  right  person  to  undertake  such  a  task,  and  that  if 
women  are  to  do  it  at  all,  they  should  be  mothers  or  other  expe 
rienced  persons,  and  not  young  wives. 

"I  am  pained  that  you  should  make  such  a  cruel  insinuation 
against  the  character  and  motives  of  the  lady  whom  I  have  to 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  89 

bless  for  my  escape  from  a  detestable  position.  But  even  if 
she  had  been  the  kind  of  character  you  describe,  do  I  under 
stand  you  to  mean  that  it  would  have  been  a  triumph  for  me 
to  have  obtained  the  reversion  of  her  equally  culpable  asso 
ciate  ?  that  I  ought,  in  fact,  to  have  gratefully  accepted  a 
secondhand  sort  of  man  !  You  would  not  counsel  a  son  of 
yours  to  marry  a  society  woman  of  the  same  character  as 
Major  Colquhoun,  and  neither  more  nor  less  degraded,  for  the 
purpose  of  reforming  her,  would  you,  mother  ?  I  know  you 
would  not.  And  as  a  woman's  soul  is  every  bit  as  precious  as  ) 
a  man's,  one  sees  what  cant  this  talk  of  reformation  is.  It  ' 
seems  to  me  that  such  cases  as  Major  Colquhoun's  are  for  the 
clergy,  who  have  both  experience  and  authority,  and  not  for 
young  wives  to  tackle.  And,  at  any  rate,  although  reforming 
reprobates  may  be  a  very  noble  calling,  I  do  not,  at  nineteen, 
feel  that  I  have  any  vocation  for  it ;  and  I  would  respectfully 
suggest  that  you,  mother,  with  your  experience,  your  known 
piety,  and  your  sweet  disposition,  would  be  a  much  more  suit 
able  person  to  reform  Major  Colquhoun  than  I  should  be. 
His  past  life  seems  to  inspire  you  with  no  horror  ;  the  knowl 
edge  of  it  makes  me  shrink  from  him.  My  husband  must  be 
a  Christ-like  man.  I  have  very  strong  convictions,  you  see, 
on  the  subject  of  the  sanctity  and  responsibilities  of  marriage. 
There  are  certain  conditions  which  I  hold  to  be  essential  on 
both  sides.  I  hold  also  that  human  beings  are  sacred  and 
capable  of  deep  desecration,  and  that  marriage,  their  closest 
bond,  is  sacred  too,  the  holiest  relationship  in  life,  and  one 
which  should  only  be  entered  upon  with  the  greatest  care,  and 
in  the  most  reverent  spirit.  I  see  no  reason  why  marriage 
should  be  a  lottery.  But  evidently  Major  Colquhoun's  views  • 
upon  the  subject  differ  widely  from  mine,  and  it  seems  to  me  / 
utterly  impossible  that  we  should  ever  be  able  to  accommo 
date  ourselves  to  each  other's  principles.  Had  I  known  soon 
enough  that  he  did  not  answer  to  my  requirements,  I  should 
have  dismissed  him  at  once,  and  thought  no  more  about  him, 
and  all  this  misery  would  never  have  occurred  ;  but  having 
been  kept  in  ignorance,  I  consider  that  I  was  inveigled  into 
consenting,  that  the  vow  I  made  was  taken  under  a  grave  mis 
apprehension,  that  therefore  there  is  nothing  either  holy  or 
binding  in  it,  and  that  every  law  of  morality  absolves  me  from 
fulfilling  my  share  of  the  contract.  This,  of  course,  is  merely 
considering  marriage  from  the  higher  and  most  moral  point 
of  view ;  but  even  when  I  think  of  it  in  the  lower  and  more 


90  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

ordinary  way,  I  find  the  same  conclusion  forces  itself  upon 
me.  For  there  certainly  is  no  romance  in  marrying  a  man  old 
already  in  every  emotion,  between  whom  and  me  the  recol 
lection  of  some  other  woman  would  be  forever  intruding.  My 
whole  soul  sickens  at  the  possibility,  and  I  think  that  it  must 
have  been  women  old  in  emotion  themselves  who  first  tolerated 
the  staleness  of  such  lovers. 

"  I  feel  that  my  letter  is  very  inadequate,  mother.  The 
thought  that  I  am  forced  to  pain  and  oppose  you  distracts  me. 
But  I  have  tried  conscientiously  to  show  you  exactly  what  my 
conviction  and  principles  are,  and  I  do  think  I  have  a  right  to 
beg  that  you  will  at  least  be  tolerant,  however  much  you  may 
disagree  with  me. 

"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  EVADNE." 

Mrs.  Frayling's  reply  to  this  letter  arrived  by  return  of  post, 
red  hot.  Evadne,  glancing  at  the  envelope,  frowned  to  find 
herself  addressed  as  "  Mrs.  Colquhoun."  The  name  had  not 
struck  her  on  her  mother's  first  communication,  which  was 
also  the  first  occasion  upon  which  she  had  been  so  addressed, 
and  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  until  now  that  she  would  have 
to  be  "  Mrs.  Colquhoun  "  from  thenceforth,  whether  she  liked 
it  or  not.  She  felt  it  to  be  unjust,  distinctly  ;  a  gross  infringe 
ment  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  and  she  opened  her  mother's 
letter  with  rage  and  rebellion  at  her  heart,  and  found  the  con 
tents  anything  but  soothing  to  such  a  state  of  mind.  It  ran 
as  follows  • 

"  You  MOST  UNNATURAL  CHILD  : 

"  We  shall  all  be  disgraced  if  this  story  gets  out.  So  far, 
the  world  knows  nothing,  and  there  is  time  for  you  to  save 
yourself.  I  warn  you  that  your  father's  anger  is  extreme.  He 
says  he  shall  be  obliged  to  put  you  in  a  lunatic  asylum  if  you 
do  not  give  in  at  once,  and  consent  to  live  with  your  husband. 
And  there  is  the  law,  too,  which  your  husband  can  invoke. 
And  think  of  your  five  sisters.  Will  anybody  marry  them 
after  such  a  business  with  you  ?  Their  prospects  will  be 
simply  ruined  by  your  heartless  selfishness.  No  girl  in  my 
young  days  would  have  acted  so  outrageously.  It  is  not 
decent.  It  is  positively  immodest.  I  repeat  that  your  father 
is  the  proper  person  to  judge  for  you.  You  know  nothing  of 
I  the  world,  and  even  if  you  did,  you  are  not  old  enough  to 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  91 

think  for  yourself.  You  do  not  imagine  yourself  to  be  a  sort  ( 
of  seer,  I  hope,  better  informed  by  intuition  than  your  parents 
are  by  wisdom  and  knowledge,  for  that  would  be  a  certain 
sign  of  insanity.  Your  father  thinks  your  opposition  is  mere 
conceit,  and  certainly  no  good  can  come  of  it.  All  right 
minded  women  have  submitted  and  suffered  patiently,  and 
have  had  their  reward.  Think  of  the  mother  of  St.  Angus- 
tin  !  Her  husband  returned  to  her  penitent  after  years  of 
depravity.  '  Every  wise  woman  buildeth  her  house  ;  but  the 
foolish  pluck  it  down,'  and  that  is  what  you  are  doing.  *  A 
continual  dropping  on  a  rainy  day  and  a  contentious  woman  are 
alike.'  For  Heaven's  sake,  my  child,  do  not  become  a  con 
tentious  woman.  See  also  Prov.  viii.  If  only  you  had  read 
your  Bible  regularly  every  day,  prayed  humbly  for  a  contrite 
heart,  and  obeyed  your  parents,  as  you  have  always  been  taught 
to  do,  we  should  never  have  had  all  this  dreadful  trouble  with 
you;  but  you  show  yourself  wanting  in  respect  in  every  way 
and  in  all  right  and  proper  feeling,  and  really  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  I  don't  indeed.  Oh,  do  remember  that  forgive 
ness  is  still  offered  to  you,  and  repent  while  it  is  called  to-day. 
I  assure  you  that  your  poor  husband  is  even  more  ready  than 
your  father  and  myself  to  forgive  and  forget. 

'•  I  pray  for  you  continually,  Evadne,  I  do  indeed.  If  you 
have  any  natural  feeling  at  all,  write  and  relieve  my  anxiety  at 
once. 

"  Your  affectionate  mother, 

"  ELIZABETH  FRAYLING." 

Evadne  read  this  letter  in  the  drawing  room,  and  stood  for 
a  little  leaning  against  the  window  frame  looking  up  at  the 
Close,  at  the  old  trees  dishevelled  by  the  recent  gale,  and  at 
the  weather-beaten  wall  of  the  south  transept  of  the  cathedral, 
from  which  the  beautiful  spire  sprang  upward  ;  but  she  ren 
dered  no  account  to  herself  of  these  marvels  of  nature  and  art. 

Something  in  her  attitude  as  she  stood  there,  with  one  hand 
resting  flat  upon  the  window  frame  high  above  her  head  and 
the  other  hanging  down  beside  her  loosely  holding  her 
mother's  letter,  attracted  Mrs.  Orton  Beg's  attention,  and 
made  her  wonder  what  thought  her  niece  was  so  intent  upon. 
Not  one  of  the  thoughts  of  youth,  which  are  "  long,  long 
thoughts,"  apparently,  for  the  expression  of  her  countenance 
was  not  far  away,  and  neither  was  it  sad  nor  angry,  but  only 
intent.  Presently,  she  turned  from  the  window,  languidly 


92  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

strolled  to  the  writing  table,  re-read  her  letter,  and  began  to 
write  without  moving  a  muscle  of  her  face.  As  she  proceeded, 
however,  she  compressed  her  lips  and  bent  her  brows  porten 
tously,  and  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  sure  that  she  heard  no  note 
of  the  mellow  chime  which  sounded  once  while  she  was  so 
engaged,  and  seemed  to  her  aunt  to  plead  with  her  solemnly 
to  cast  her  care  on  the  great  Power  watching,  and  continue 
passively  in  the  old  worn  grooves,  as  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  herself 
had  done. 

Evadne  began  abruptly : 

"  THE  CLOSE,  MORNINGQUEST,  i3th  October. 
"  DEAR  MOTHER  : 

"  You  say  that  no  girl  in  your  young  days  would  have 
behaved  so  outrageously  as  I  am  doing.  I  wish  you  had  said 
'  so  decidedly/  instead  of  *  outrageously,'  for  I  am  sure  that 
any  resistance  to  the  old  iniquitous  state  of  things  is  a  quite 
hopeful  sign  of  coming  change  for  the  better.  We  are  a  long 
way  from  the  days  when  it  was  considered  right  and  becoming 
for  women  in  our  position  to  sit  in  their  *  parlours,'  do  Berlin 
woolwork,  and  say  nothing.  We  should  call  that  conniving 
now.  But,  happily,  women  are  no  longer  content  to  be  part 

•  of  the  livestock  about  the  place  ;  they  have  acquired  the  right 
of  reason  and  judgment  in  matters  concerning  themselves  in 

j  particular,  and  the  welfare  of  the  world  at  large.  Public 
opinion  now  is  composed  of  what  we  think,  to  a  very  great 
extent.  You  remind  me  of  what  other  women  have  done,  and 
how  patiently  they  have  submitted.  I  have  found  the  same 
thing  said  over  and  over  again  in  the  course  of  my  reading, 
but  I  have  not  yet  found  any  particular  mention  made  of  the 
great  good  which  would  naturally  have  come  of  all  the  sub 
mission  which  has  been  going  on  for  so  many  centuries,  if 
submission  on  our  part  is  truly  an  effectual  means  of  checking 
sin.  On  the  contrary.  St.  Monica  doubtless  made  things 
pleasanter  for  her  own  husband  by  rewarding  him  with  for 
giveness,  a  happy  home,  and  good  nursing,  when  he  returned 
to  her  exhausted  by  vice,  but  at  the  same  time  she  set  a  most 
pernicious  example.  So  long  as  men  believe  that  women  will 
forgive  anything  they  will  do  anything.  Do  you  see  what  I 
mean  ?  The  mistake  from  the  beginning  has  been  that  women 
have  practised  self-sacrifice,  when  they  should  have  been 
teaching  men  self-control.  You  say  that  I  do  not  know  the 
world,  but  my  father  does,  and  that,  therefore,  I  must  let  him 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  93 

judge  for  me.  He  probably  does  know  the  world,  but  he 
quite  evidently  does  not  know  me.  Our  point  of  view,  you 
see,  is  necessarily  very  different.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Major 
Colquhoun  is  agreeable  in  the  temporary  good  fellowship  of 
the  smoking  room,  and  he  is  agreeable'  in  the  drawing  room 
also,  but  society  and  his  own  interests  require  him  to  be  so ; 
it  is  a  trick  of  manner,  merely,  which  may  conceal  the  most 
objectionable  mind.  Character  is  what  we  have  most  to  con- 
sider  in  the  choosing  of  a  partner  for  life,  and  how  are  we  to 
consider  it  except  by  actions,  such  as  a  man's  misdeeds,  which 
are  specially  the  outcome  of  his  own  individuality,  and  are 
calculated  in  their  consequences  to  do  more  injury  to  his 
family  than  could  be  compensated  for  by  the  most  charming 
manners  in  the  world. 

"  Of  course  I  deprecate  my  father's  anger,  but  I  must  again 
repeat  I  do  not  consider  that  I  deserve  it. 

"  The  lunatic  asylum  is  a  nonsensical  threat,  and  the  law  I 
am  inclined  to  invoke  myself  for  the  purpose  of  ventilating  the 
question.  Do  I  understand  that  Major  Colquhoun  presumes 
to  send  me  messages  of  forgiveness  ?  What  has  he  to  forgive, 
may  I  ask  ?  Surely  /am  the  person  who  has  been  imposed 
upon.  Do  not,  I  beg,  allow  him  to  repeat  such  an  impertin 
ence. 

But,  mother,  why  do  you  persistently  ignore  my  reason  for 
refusing  to  live  with  Major  Colquhoun  ?  Summed  up  it  comes 
to  this  really,  and  I  give  it  now  vulgarly,  baldly,  boldly,  and 
once  for  all.  Major  Colquhoun  is  not  good  enough,  and  I  wont 
have  him.  That  is  plain,  I  am  sure,  and  I  must  beg  you  to 
accept  it  as  my  final  decision.  The  tone  of  our  correspond 
ence  is  becoming  undignified  on  both  sides,  and  the  corre 
spondence  itself  must  end  here.  I  shall  not  write  another  word 
on  the  subject,  and  I  only  wish  you  had  not  compelled  me  to 
write  so  much.  Forgive  me,  mother,  do,  for  being  myself — I 
don't  know  how  else  to  put  it ;  but  I  know  that  none  of  the 
others  could  do  as  I  have  done,  and  yet  I  cannot  help  it.  I 
cannot  act  otherwise  and  preserve  my  honesty  and  self-respect. 
It  is  conscience,  and  not  caprice,  that  I  am  obeying  ;  I  wish  I 
could  make  you  realize  that.  Bat,  at  all  events,  don't  write 
me  any  more  hard  words,  mother.  They  burn  into  my  memory 
and  obliterate  the  loving  thoughts  I  have  of  you.  It  is  terri 
ble  to  be  met  with  bitterness  and  reproach,  where  hitherto  one 
has  known  nothing  but  kindness  and  indulgence,  so,  I  do 
entreat  you,  mother,  once  more  to  forgive  me  for  being  myself, 


94  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

and  above  everything,  to  say  nothing  which  will  destroy  my 
affection  for  you. 

"  Believe  me,  I  always  have  been,  and  hope  always  to  be, 

"  Your  most  loving  child, 

"  EVADNE." 

The  last  lines  were  crowded  into  the  smallest  possible  space, 
and  there  had  hardly  been  room  enough  for  her  name  at  the 
end.  She  glanced  at  the  clock  as  she  folded  the  letter,  and 
finding  that  there  was  only  just  time  to  catch  the  post  she 
rang  for  a  servant  and  told  her  to  take  it  at  once.  Then  she 
took  her  old  stand  in  the  window,  and  watched  the  girl  hurry 
ing  up  the  Close,  holding  the  white  letter  carelessly,  and  wav 
ing  it  to  and  fro  on  a  level  with  her  shoulder  as  she  went. 

"  I  wish  I  had  had  time  to  re-write  it,"  Evadne  thought  ; 
"shall  I  call  her  back?  No.  Anything  will  be  better  for 
mother  than  another  day's  suspense.  But  I  think  I  might  have 
expressed  myself  better.  I  don't  know,  though."  She  turned 
from  the  window,  and  met  her  aunt's  kind  eyes  fixed  upon 
her. 

"  You  are  flushed,  Evadne/'  the  latter  said.  "  Were  you 
writing  home? " 

",Yes,  auntie,"  Evadne  answered  wearily. 

"You  are  looking  more  worried  than  I  have  seen  you  yet." 

"  I  am  worried,  auntie,  and  I  lost  my  temper.  I  could  not 
help  it,  and  I  am  dissatisfied.  I  know  I  have  said  too  much, 
and  I  have  said  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again,  and  gone 
round  and  round  the  subject,  too,  and  altogether  I  am  dis 
heartened." 

"I  cannot  imagine  you  saying  too  much  about  anything, 
Evadne,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  commented,  smiling. 

"  When  I  am  speaking,  you  mean.  But  that  is  different.  I 
am  always  afraid  to  speak,  but  I  dare  write  anything.  The 
subject  is  closed  now,  however.  I  shall  write  no  more."  She 
advanced  listlessly,  and  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece  close 
beside  the  couch  on  which  her  aunt  was  lying. 

"  Have  you  ever  felt  compelled  to  say  something  which  all 
the  time  you  hate  to  say,  and  afterward  hate  yourself  for  hav 
ing  said  ?  That  is  what  I  always  seem  to  be  doing  now." 
She  looked  up  at  the  cathedral  as  she  spoke.  "  How  I  envy 
you  your  power  to  say  exactly  what  you  mean,"  she  added. 

"  Who  told  you  I  always  say  exactly  what  I  mean  ? "  her 
aunt  asked,  smiling. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  95 

"  Well,  exactly  what  you  ought  to  say,  then,"  Evadne 
answered,  responding  to  the  smile. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  sighed  and  resumed  her  knitting.  She  was 
making  some  sort  of  wrap  out  of  soft  white  wool,  and  Evadne 
noticed  the  glint  of  her  rings  as  she  worked,  and  also  the 
delicacy  of  her  slender  white  hands  as  she  held  them  up  in  the 
somewhat  tiring  attitude  which  her  position  on  the  couch 
necessitated. 

"  How  patient  you  are,  auntie,"  Evadne  said,  and  then  she 
bent  down  and  kissed  her  forehead  and  cheeks. 

"  It  is  easy  to  be  patient  when  one's  greatest  trial  is  only 
the  waiting  for  a  happy  certainty,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  answered. 
"  But  you  will  be  patient  too,  Evadne,  sooner  or  later.  You 
are  at  the  passionate  age  now,  but  the  patient  one  will  come 
all  in  good  time." 

"  You  have  always  a  word  of  comfort,"  Evadne  said. 

"  There  is  one  word  more  I  would  say,  although  I  do  not 
wish  to  influence  you,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  began  hesitatingly. 

"  You  mean  submit"  Evadne  answered,  and  shook  her  head. 
"  No,  that  word  is  of  no  use  to  me.  Mine  is  rebel.  It  seems 
to  me  that  those  who  dare  to  rebel  in  every  age  are  they  who 
make  life  possible  for  those  whom  temperament  compels  to 
submit.  It  is  the  rebels  who  extend  the  boundary  of  right 
little  by  little,  narrowing  the  confines  of  wrong,  and  crowding 
it  out  of  existence." 

She  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  on  the  ground  with 
bent  brows,  thinking  deeply,  and  then  she  slowly  sauntered 
from  the  room,  and  presently  passed  the  south  window  with 
her  hat  in  her  hand,  took  one  turn  round  the  garden,  and  then 
subsided  into  the  high-backed  chair,  on  which  she  had  sat  and 
fed  her  fancy  with  dreams  of  love  a  few  weeks  before  her 
marriage.  The  day  was  one  of  those  balmy  mild  ones  which 
come  occasionally  in  mid-October.  The  sheltered  garden  had 
suffered  little  in  the  recent  gale.  From  where  Mrs.  Orton 
Beg  reclined  there  was  no  visible  change  in  the  background 
of  single  dahlias,  sunflowers,  and  the  old  brick  wall  curtained 
with  creepers,  nor  was  there  any  great  difference  apparent  in 
the  girl  herself.  The  delicate  shell-pink  of  passion  had  faded 
to  milky  white,  her  eyes  were  heavy,  and  her  attitude  some 
what  fatigued,  but  that  was  all  ;  a  dance  the  night  before 
would  have  left  her  so  exactly,  and  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  watching 
her,  wondered  at  the  small  effect  of  "  blighted  affection  "  as 
she  saw  it  in  Evadne,  compared  with  the  terrible  consequences 


96  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

which  popular  superstition  attributes  to  "  a  disappointment." 
Evadne  had  certainly  suffered,  but  more  because  her  parents, 
in  whom  she  had  always  had  perfect  confidence,  and  whom 
she  had  known  and  loved  as  long  as  she  could  remember  any 
thing,  had  failed  her,  than  because  she  had  been  obliged  to 
cast  a  man  out  of  her  life  who  had  merely  lighted  it  for  a  few 
months  with  a  flame  which  she  recognized  now  as  lurid  at 
the  best,  and  uncertain,  and  which  she  would  never  have 
desired  to  keep  burning  continually  with  that  feverish  glare  to 
the  extinguishing  of  every  other  interesting  object.  She  would 
have  been  happiest  when  passion  ended  and  love  began,  as  it 
does  in  happy  marriages. 

And  she  was  herself  comparing  the  two  states  of  mind  as  she 
sat  there.  She  was  conscious  of  a  blank  now,  dull  and  dispir 
iting  enough,  but  no  more  likely  to  endure  than  the  absorbing 
passion  it  succeeded.  She  knew  it  for  an  interregnum,  and 
was  thinking  of  the  books  she  would  send  for  when  she  had 
mastered  herself  sufficiently  to  be  interested  in  books  again.  It 
was  as  if  her  mind  had  been  out  of  health,  but  was  convalescent 
now  and  recovering  its  strength  ;  and  she  was  as  well  aware 
of  the  fact  as  if  she  had  been  suffering  from  some  physical  ail 
ment  which  had  interrupted  her  ordinary  pursuits, and  was  mak 
ing  plans  for  the  time  when  she  should  be  able  to  resume  them. 

While  so  engaged,  however,  she  fell  asleep,  as  convalescents 
do,  and  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  smiled  at  the  consummation.  It  was 
not  romantic,  but  it  was  eminently  healthy. 

At  the  same  time,  she  heard  the  hall  door  opened  from 
without  as  by  one  who  had  a  right  to  enter  familiarly,  and  a 
man's  step  in  the  hall. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  a  firm  tap  at  the  door, 
and  smiled,  looking  over  her  shoulder  as  it  opened. 

It  was  Dr.  Galbraith  on  his  way  back  through  Morningquest 
to  his  own  place,  Fountain  Towers. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  as  he  took 
her  hand. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  back  from  the  Ca»tle,"  he  rejoined,  sit 
ting  down  beside  her  ;  "  and  I  have  just  come  in  for  a  moment 
to  see  how  the  ankle  progresses." 

"  Quicker  now,  I  am  thankful  to  say,"  she  answered.  "  I 
can  get  about  the  house  comfortably  if  I  rest  in  between  times. 
But  is  there  anything  wrong  at  the  Castle  ?  " 

"  The  same  old  thing,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  bright  gray  eyes.  *'  The  Duke  has  been  seeing  visions — 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  97 

determination  of  blood  to  the  head  ;  and  Lady  Fulda  has  been 
dreaming  dreams— fatigue  and  fasting.  Food  and  rest  for 
her — she  will  be  undisturbed  by  dreams  to-night ;  and  a  severe 
course  of  dieting  for  him." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  smiled.  "  Really  life  is  becoming  too 
prosaic,"  she  said,  "  since  you  dreadfully  clever  people  began 
to  discover  a  reason  for  everything.  Lady  Fulda's  beauty  and 
goodness  would  have  been  enough  to  convince  any  man  at  one 
time  that  she  is  a  saint  indeed,  and  privileged  to  heal  the  sick 
and  converse  with  angels  ;  but  you  are  untouched  by  either." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  "  I  never  see  her  or  think 
of  her  without  acknowledging  to  myself  that  she  is  one  of  the 
loveliest  and  most  angelic  women  in  the  world.  And  she 
has  the  true  magnetic  touch  of  a  nurse  too.  There  is  healing 
in  it.  I  have  seen  it  again  and  again.  But  that  is  a  natural 
process.  Many  quite  wicked  doctors  are  endowed  in  the  same 
way,  and  even  more  strongly  than  she  is.  There  can  be  no 

doubt  about  that -"  He  broke  off  with  a  little  gesture  and 

smiled  genially. 

"  But  anything  beyond ' !  "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  supplemented  ; 
"  anything  supernatural,  in  fact,  you  ridicule." 

"  One  cannot  ridicule  anything  with  which  Lady  Fulda's  name 
is  associated,"  he  answered.  "  But  tell  me,"  he  exclaimed, 
catching  sight  of  Evadne  placidly  sleeping  in  the  high-backed 
chair,  with  her  hat  in  her  hand  held  up  so  as  to  conceal  the 
lower  part  of  her  face  ;  "  Are  visions  about  ?  Is  that  one 
that  I  see  there  before  me  ?  If  I  were  Faust,  I  should 
love  such  a  Marguerite.  I  wish  she  would  let  her  hat  drop. 
I  want  to  see  the  lower  part  of  her  face.  The  upper  part 
satisfies  me.  It  is  fine.  The  balance  of  brow  and  frontal 
development  are  perfect." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  coloured  with  a  momentary  annoyance.  She 
had  forgotten  that  Evadne  was  there,  but  Dr.  Galbraith  had 
entered  so  abruptly  that  there  would  have  been  no  time  to 
warn  her  away  in  any  case. 

"  No  vision,"  she  began — "  or  if  a  vision,  one  of  the  nine 
teenth  century  sort,  tangible,  and  of  satisfying  continuance. 
She  is  a  niece  of  mine,  and  I  warn  you  in  case  you  have  a 
momentary  desire  to  forsake  your  books  and  become  young  in 
mind  again  for  her  sake  that  she  is  a  very  long  way  after  Mar 
guerite,  whom  I  think  she  would  consider  to  have  been  a  very 
weak  and  foolish  person.  I  can  imagine  her  saying  about 
Faust :  '  Fancy  sacrificing  one's  self  for  the  transient  pleasure 


98  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

of  a  moonlight  meeting  or  two  with  a  man,  and  a  few  jewels 
however  unique,  when  one  can  live  !  '  in  italics  and  with  a  note 
of  admiration.  '  Why,  I  can  put  my  elbow  here  on  the  arm  of 
my  chair  and  my  head  on  my  hand,  and  in  a  moment  I  per 
ceive  delights  past,  present,  and  to  come,  of  equal  intensity, 
more  certain  quality,  and  longer  continuance  than  passion.  I 
perceive  the  gradual  growth  of  knowledge  through  all  the 
ages,  the  clouds  of  ignorance  and  superstition  slowly  parting, 
breaking  up,  and  rolling  away,  to  let  the  light  of  science 
shine — science  being  truth.  And  there  is  all  art,  and  all 
natural  beauty  from  the  beginning — everything  that  lasts  and 
is  life.  Why,  even  to  think  on  such  subjects  warms  my  whole 
being  with  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  which  is  in  itself  a  more 
exquisite  pleasure  than  passion,  and  not  alloyed  like  the  latter 
with  uncertainty,  that  terrible  ache.  I  might  take  my  walk  in 
the  garden  with  my  own  particular  Faust  like  any  other  girl, 
and  as  I  take  my  glass  of  champagne  at  dinner,  for  its  pleasur- 
ably  stimulating  quality,  but  I  hope  I  should  do  both  in 
moderation.  And  as  to  making  Faust  my  all,  or  even  giving 
him  so  large  a  share  of  my  attention  as  to  limit  my  capacity 
for  other  forms  of  enjoyment,  absurd  !  We  are  long  past  the 
time  when  there  was  only  one  incident  of  interest  in  a  woman's 
life,  and  that  was  its  love  affair  !  There  was  no  sense  of  pro 
portion  in  those  days  ! ' ' 

"  Is  that  how  you  interpret  her  ?  "  he  said.  "  One  who  holds 
herself  well  in  hand,  bent  upon  enjoying  every  moment  of  her 
life  and  all  the  variety  of  it,  perceiving  that  it  is  stupid  to  nar 
row  it  down  to  the  indulgence  of  one  particular  set  of  emo 
tions,  and  determined  not  to  swamp  every  faculty  by  constant 
cultivation  of  the  animal  instincts  to  which  all  ages  have  cre 
ated  altars  !  Best  for  herself,  I  suppose,  but  hardly  possible 
at  present.  The  capacity,  you  know,  is  only  coming.  Women 
have  been  cramped  into  a  small  space  so  long  that  they  cannot 
expand  all  at  once  when  they#r<?  let  out ;  there  must  be  a  great 
deal  of  stretching  and  growing,  and  when  they  are  not  on  their 
guard,  they  will  often  find  themselves  falling  into  the  old 
attitude,  as  newborn  babes  are  apt  to  resume  the  ante-natal 
position.  She  will  have  the  perception,  the  inclination  ;  but 
the  power — unless  she  is  exceptional,  the  power  will  only  be 
for  her  daughter's  daughter." 

"  Then  she  must  suffer  and  do  no  good  ?" 

"  She  must  suffer,  yes  ;  but  I  don't  know  about  the  rest 
She  may  be  a  seventh  wave,  you  know  !  " 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 


99 


"  What  is  a  seventh  wave?" 

"  It  is  a  superstition  of  the  fisher-folks.  They  say  that  when 
the  tide  is  coining  in  it  pauses  always,  and  remains  stationary 
between  every  seventh  wave,  waiting  for  the  next,  and  unable 
to  rise  any  higher  till  it  comes  to  carry  it  on  ;  and  it  has 
always  seemed  to  me  that  the  tide  of  human  progress  is  raised 
at  intervals  to  higher  levels  at  a  bound  in  some  such  way. 
The  seventh  waves  of  humanity  are  men  and  women  who,  by 
the  impulse  of  some  one  action  which  comes  naturally  to  them 
but  is  new  to  the  race,  gather  strength  to  come  up  to  the  last 
halting  place  of  the  tide,  and  to  carry  it  on  with  them'ever  so 
far  beyond."  He  stopped  abruptly,  and  brushed  his  hand  over 
his  forehead.  "  Now  that  I  have  said  that,"  he  added,  "  it 
seems  as  old  as  the  cathedral  there,  and  as  familiar,  yet  the 
moment  before  I  spoke  it  appeared  to  have  only  just  occurred 
to  me.  If  it  is  an  ill-digested  reminiscence  and  you  come 
across  the  original  in  some  book,  I  am  afraid  you  will  lose  your 
faith  in  me  forever  ;  but  I  pray  you  of  your  charity  make  due 
allowance.  I  must  go." 

"Oh,  no,  not  yet  a  moment!"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  exclaimed. 
"  I  want  to  ask  you  :  How  are  Lady  Adeline  and  the  twins  ?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  Lady  Adeline  for  a  month,"  he  answered, 
rising  to  go  as  he  spoke.  "But  Dawne  tells  me  that  the  twins 
are  as  awful  as  ever.  It  is  a  question  of  education  now,  and 
it  seems  that  the  twins  have  their  own  ideas  on  the  subject, 
and  are  teaching  their  parents.  But  take  care  of  your  girlie 
out  there,"  he  added,  his  strong  face  softening  as  he  took  a 
last  look  at  her.  "  Her  body  is  not  so  robust  as  her  brain,  I 
should  say,  and  it  is  late  in  the  year  to  be  sitting  out  of  doors." 

"  Tell  me,  Dr.  Galbraith,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  began,  detaining 
him,  "  you  are  a  Scotchman,  you  should  have  the  second  sight ; 
tell  me  the  fate  of  my  girlie  out  there.  I  am  anxious  about 
her." 

"  She  will  marry,"  he  answered  in  his  deliberate  way,  hu 
mouring  her,  "but  not  have  many  children,  and  her  husband's 
name  should  be  George." 

"  Oh,  most  oracular  !  a  very  oracle  !  a  Delphic  oracle,  only 
to  be  interpreted  by  the  event !  " 

"  Just  so  ! "  he  answered  from  the  door,  and  then  he  was 
gone. 

"  Evadne,  come  in  ! "  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  called.  "  It  is  get 
ting  damp."  Evadne  roused  herself  and  entered  at  once  by 
the  window. 


100  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  I  have  been  hearing  voices  through  my  dim  dreaming 
consciousness,"  she  said.  "  Have  you  had  a  visitor  ?" 

"  Only  the  doctor,"  her  aunt  replied.  "  By  the  way, 
Evadne,"  she  added,  "  what  is  Major  Colquhoun's  Christian 
name  ?" 

"  George,"  Evadne  answered,  surprised.     "  Why,  auntie  ?" 

"Nothing;  I  wanted  to  know." 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

WHEN  breakfast  was  over  at  Fraylingay  next  morning,  and 
the  young  people  had  left  the  table,  Mrs.  Frayling  helped 
herself  to  another  cup  of  coffee,  and  solemnly  opened  Evadne's 
last  letter.  The  coffee  was  cold,  for  the  poor  lady  had  been 
waiting,  not  daring  to  take  the  last  cup  herself,  because  she 
knew  that  the  moment  she  did  so  her  husband  would  want 
more.  The  emptying  of  the  urn  was  the  signal  which  usually 
called  up  his  appetite  for  another  cup.  He  might  refuse 
several  times,  and  even  leave  the  table  amiably,  so  long  as 
there  was  any  left  ;  but  the  knowledge  or  suspicion  that  there 
was  none,  set  up  a  sense  of  injury,  unmistakably  expressed  in 
his  countenance,  and  not  to  be  satisfied  by  having  more  made 
immediately,  although  he  invariably  ordered  it  just  to  mark 
his  displeasure.  He  would  get  up  and  ring  for  it  emphatically, 
and  would  even  sit  with  it  before  him  for  some  time  after  it 
came,  but  would  finally  go  out  without  touching  it,  and  be,  as 
poor  Mrs.  Frayling  mentally  expressed  it :  "  Oh,  dear  !  quite 
upset  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

On  this  occasion,  however,  the  pleasure  of  a  wholly  new 
grievance  left  no  space  in  his  fickle  mind  for  the  old-worn 
item  of  irritation,  and  he  never  even  noticed  that  the  coffee 
was  done.  "  Dear  George  "  sat  beside  Mrs.  Frayling.  She 
kept  him  there  in  order  to  be  able  to  bestow  a  s^ray  pat  on  his 
hand,  or  make  him  some  other  sign  of  that  maternal  tenderness 
of  which  she  considered  the  poor  dear  fellow  stood  so  much 
in  need. 

Mr.  Frayling  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  reading  a  local  paper 
with  one  eye,  as  it  were,  and  watching  his  wife  for  her  news 
with  the  other.  A  severely  critical  expression  sat  singularly 
ill  upon  his  broad  face,  which  was  like  a  baked  apple,  puffy, 
and  wrinkled,  and  red,  and  there  was  about  him  a  queerly 
pursed-up  air  of  settled  opposition  to  everything  which  did 
duty  for  both  the  real  and  spurious  object  of  his  attention. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  101 

Mrs.  Frayling  read  the  letter  through  to  herself,  and  then 
she  put  it  down  on  the  table  and  raised  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Well,  what  does  she  say  now,"  Mr.  Frayling  exclaimed, 
throwing  down  the  local  paper  and  giving  way  to  his  im 
patience  openly. 

"  Dear  George  "  was  perfectly  cool. 

"  She  says,"  Mrs.  Frayling  enjoined  between  two  sniffs, 
"  that  Major  Colquhoun  isn't  good  enough,  and  she  wont  have 
him." 

"  Well,  I  understand  that,  at  all  events,  better  than  any 
thing  else  she  has  said,"  Major  Colquhoun  observed,  almost 
as  if  a  weight  had  been  removed  from  his  mind.  "  And  I  am 
quite  inclined  to  come  to  terms  with  her,  for  I  don't  care  much 
myself  for  a  young  lady  who  gets  into  hysterics  about  things 
that  other  women  think  nothing  of." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  think  nothing  of,  George,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
deprecated.  "We  lament  and  deplore,  but  we  forgive  and 
endure." 

"  It  comes  to  the  same  thing,"  said  Major  Colquhoun. 

A  big  dog  which  sat  beside  him,  with  its  head  on  his  knee, 
thumped  his  tail  upon  the  ground  here  and  whined  sympa 
thetically  ;  and  he  laid  one  hand  caressingly  upon  his  head, 
while  he  twirled  his  big  blond  moustache  with  the  other.  He 
was  fond  of  children  and  animals,  and  all  creatures  that 
fawned  upon  him  and  were  not  able  to  argue  if  they  disagreed 
with  him,  or  resent  it  if  he  kicked  them,  actually  or  metaphor 
ically  speaking  ;  not  that  he  was  much  given  to  that  kind  of 
thing.  He  was  agreeable  naturally  as  all  pleasure-loving  peo 
ple  are ;  only  when  he  did  lose  his  temper  that  was  the  way 
he  showed  it.  He  would  cut  a  woman  to  the  quick  with  a 
word,  and  knock  a  man  down  ;  but  both  ebullitions  were 
momentary  as  a  rule.  It  was  really  too  much  trouble  to  cherish 
anger. 

And  just  then  he  was  thinking  quite  as  much  about  his 
moustache  as  about  his  wife.  It  had  once  been  the  pride  of 
his  life,  but  had  come  to  be  the  cause  of  some  misgivings  ; 
for  "  heavy  moustaches  "  had  gone  out  of  fashion  in  polite 
society. 

Mr.  Frayling  followed  up  the  last  remark.  "This  is  very 
hard  on  you,  Colquhoun,  very  hard,"  he  declared,  pushing  his 
plate  away  from  him  ;  "  and  I  may  say  that  it  is  very  hard  on 
me  too.  But  it  just  shows  you  what  would  come  of  the  Higher 


105  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

Education  of  Women  !  Why,  they'd  raise  some  absurd  stand- 
ard  of  excellence,  and  want  to  import  angels  from  Eden  if 
we  didn't  come  up  to  it." 

Major  Colquhoun  looked  depressed. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Frayling  protested,  shaking  her  head.  "  She 
says  her  husband  must  be  a  Christlike  man.  She  says  men 
have  agreed  to  accept  Christ  as  an  example  of  what  a  man 
should  be,  and  asserts  that  therefore  they  must  feel  in  them 
selves  that  they  could  live  up  to  his  standard  if  they  chose." 

"  There  now  ! "  Mr.  Frayling  exclaimed  triumphantly. 
"  That  is  just  what  I  said.  A  Christlike  man,  indeed  !  What 
absurdity  will  women  want  next  ?  I  don't  know  what  to 
advise,  Colquhoun.  I  really  don't." 

"  Can't  you  order  her  ?  "  Mrs.  Frayling  suggested. 

"  Order  her !  How  can  7  order  her  ?  She  belongs  to 
Major  Colquhoun  now,"  he  retorted  irritably,  but  with  a  fine 
conservative  regard  for  the  rights  of  property. 

"  And  this  is  the  way  she  keeps  her  vow  of  obedience," 
Major  Colquhoun  muttered. 

"  Oh,  but  you  see — the  poor  misguided  child  considers  that 
she  made  the  vow  under  a  misapprehension,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
explained,  her  maternal  instinct  acting  on  the  defensive  when 
her  offspring's  integrity  was  attacked,  and  making  the  position 
clear  to  her.  "  Don't  you  think,  dear," — to  her  husband — 
"that  if  you  asked  the  bishop,  he  would  talk  to  her." 

"  The  bishop  !  "  Mr.  Frayling  ejaculated  with  infinite  scorn 
"  /  know  what  women  are  when  they  go  off  like  this.  Once 
they  set  up  opinions  of  their  own,  there's  no  talking  to  them. 
Why,  haven't  they  gone  to  the  stake  for  their  opinions  ?  She 
wouldn't  obey  the  whole  bench  of  bishops  in  her  present  frame 
of  mind  ;  and,  if  they  condescended  to  talk  to  her,  they 
would  only  confirm  her  belief  iu  her  own  powers.  She  would 
glory  to  find  herself  opposing  what  she  calls  her  opinions  to 
theirs." 

"  Oh,  the  child  is  mad  ! "  Mrs.  Frayling  wailed.  "  I've  said 
it  all  along.  She's  quite  mad." 

"  Is  there  any  insanity  in  the  family?"  Major  Colquhoun 
asked,  looking  up  suspiciously. 

"  None,  none  whatever,"  Mr.  Frayling  hastened  to  assure 
him.  "  There  has  never  been  a  case.  In  fact,  the  women 
on  both  sides  have  always  been  celebrated  for  good  sense 
and  exceptional  abilities— -for  women,  of  course  ;  and  several 
of  the  men  have  distinguished  themselves,  as  you  know." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  103 

"  That  does  not  alter  my  opinion  in  the  least  !  "  Mrs 
Frayling  put  in.  "  Evadne  must  be  mad." 

"She's  worse,  I  think,"  Major  Colquhoun  exclaimed  in  ? 
tone  of  deep  disgust.  "  She's  worse  than  mad.  She's  clever. 
You  can  do  something  with  a  mad  woman  ;  you  can  lock 
her  up  ;  but  a  clever  woman's  the  devil.  And  I'd  never 
have  thought  it  of  her,"  he  added  regretfully.  "  Such  a  nice 
quiet  little  thing  as  she  seemed,  with  hardly  a  word  to  say  foi 
herself.  You  wouldn't  have  imagined  that  she  knew  what 
'views 'are,  let  alone  having  any  of  her  own.  But  that  ir 
just  the  way  with  women.  There's  no  being  up  to  them." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Frayling. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  where  she  got  them,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
protested,  "  for  I  am  sure  /  haven't  any.  But  she  seems  to 
know  so  much  about — everything  !"  she  declared,  glancing  af. 
the  letter.  "  At  her  age  I  knew  nothing  !  " 

"I  can  vouch  for  that  !  "  her  husband  exclaimed.  He  was  | 
one  of  those  men  who  oppose  the  education  of  women  might 
and  main,  and  then  jeer  at  them  for  knowing  nothing.  He  !| 
was  very  particular  about  the  human  race  when  it  was  likely 
to  suffer  by  an  injurious  indulgence  on  the  part  of  women, 
but  when  it  was  a  question  of  extra  port  wine  for'  himself,  he 
never  considered  the  tortures  of  gout  he  might  be  entailing 
upon  his  own  hapless  descendants.  However,  there  was  an 
excuse  for  him  on  this  occasion,  for  it  is  not  every  day  that  an 
irritated  man  has  an  opportunity  of  railing  at  his  wife's 
incapacity  and  the  inconvenient  intelligence  of  his  daughter 
both  in  one  breath.  "  But  how  has  Evadne  obtained  all  this 
mischievous  information  ?  I  cannot  think  how  she  could  have 
obtained  it !  "  he  ejaculated,  knitting  his  brows  at  his  wife  in 
a  suspicious  way,  as  he  always  did  when  this  importunate 
thought  recurred  to  him.  In  such  ordinary  everyday  matters 
as  the  management  of  his  estate,  and  his  other  duties  as  a 
county  gentleman,  and  also  in  solid  comprehension  of  the 
political  situation  of  the  period,  he  was  by  no  means  wanting  ; 
but  his  mind  simply  circled  round  and  round  this  business  of 
Evadne's  like  a  helpless  swimmer  in  a  whirlpool,  able  to  keep 
afloat,  but  with  nothing  to  take  hold  of.  The  risk  of  sending 
the  mind  of  an  elderly  gentleman  of  settled  prejudices  spin 
ning  "  down  the  ringing  grooves  of  change  "  at  such  a  rate  is 
considerable. 

During  the  day  he  wandered  up  to  the  rooms  which  had 
been  Evadne's.  They  were  kept  very  much  as  she  was 


164  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

accustomed  to  have  them,  but  there  was  that  something  of 
bareness  about  them,  and  a  kind  of  spick-and-spanness  con 
veying  a  sense  of  emptiness  and  desertion  which  strikes  cold 
to  the  heart  when  it  comes  of  the  absence  of  someone  dear. 
And  Mr.  Frayling  felt  the  discomfort  of  it.  The  afternoon 
sunlight  slanted  across  the  little  sitting  room,  falling  on  the 
backs  of  a  row  of  well-worn  books,  and  showing  the  scars  of 
use  and  abuse  on  them.  Without  deliberate  intention,  Mr. 
Frayling  followed  the  ray,  and  read  the  bald  titles  by  its  un 
compromising  clearness — histology,  pathology,  anatomy,  physi- 
ology,  prophylactics,  therapeutics,  botany,  natural  history, 
ancient  and  outspoken  history,  not  to  mention  the  modern 
writers  and  the  various  philosophies.  Mr.  Frayling  took  out 
a  work  on  sociology,  opened  it,  read  a  few  passages  which 
Evadne  had  marked,  and  solemnly  ejaculated,  "  Good  Heav 
ens  !  "  several  times.  He  could  not  have  been  more  horrified 
had  the  books  been  "  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin,"  "  Nana,"  "La 
Terre,"  "  Madame  Bovary,"  and  "  Sapho"  ;  yet,  had  women 
been  taught  to  read  the  former  and  reflect  upon  them,  our 
sacred  humanity  might  have  been  saved  sooner  from  the  depth 
of  degradation  depicted  in  the  latter. 

The  discovery  of  these  books  was  an  adding  of  alkali  to 
the  acid  of  Mr.  Frayling's  disposition  at  the  moment,  and  he 
went  down  to  look  for  his  wife  while  he  was  still  effervescing. 
How  did  Evadne  get  them  ?  he  wanted  to  know.  Mrs.  Fray- 
ling  could  not  conceive.  She  had  forgotten  all  about  Evadne's 
discovery  of  the  box  of  books  in  the  attic,  and  the  sort  of 
general  consent  she  had  given  when  Evadne  worried  her  for 
permission  to  read  them. 

"  She  must  be  a  most  deceitful  girl.  I  shall  go  and  talk  to 
her  myself,'*  Mr.  Frayling  concluded. 

And  doubtless,  if  only  he  had  had  a  pair  of  wings  to  spread, 
he  would  presently  have  appeared  sailing  over  the  cathedral 
into  the  Close  at  Morningquest,  a  portly  bird,  in  a  frock  coat, 
tall  hat,  and  a  very  bad  temper. 

But,  poor  gentleman  !  he  really  was  an  object  for  compas 
sion.  All  his  ideas  of  propriety  and  the  natural  social  order 
of  the  universe  were  being  outraged,  and  by  his  favourite 
daughter  too,  the  one  whom  everybody  thought  so  like  him. 
,  And  in  truth,  she  was  like  him,  especially  in  the  matter  of 
;  sticking  to  her  own  opinion  ;  just  the  very  thing  he  had  no 
patience  with,  for  he  detested  obstinate  people.  He  said  so 
himself.  He  did  not  go,  however.  Having  preparations  to 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWIKS.  16$ 

make  and  a  train  to  wait  for,  gave  him  time  to  reflect,  and, 
perceiving  that  the  interview  must  inevitably  be  of  a  most 
disagreeable  nature,  he  decided  to  send  his  wife  next  day  to 
reason  with  her  daughter. 

Mrs.  Frayting  came  upon  Evadne  unawares,  and  the  shock  i 
it  gave  the  girl  to  see   her  mother  all  miserably  agitated  and  ' 
worn  with  worry,was  a  more  powerful  point  in  favour  of  the  suc 
cess  of  the  latter's  mission  than  any  argument  would  have  been. 

The  poor  lady  was  handsomely  dressed,  and  of  a  large  pre 
sence  calculated  to  inspire  awe  in  inferiors  unaccustomed  to 
it.  She  was  a  well-preserved  woman,  with  even  teeth,  thick 
brown  hair,  scarcely  tinged  with  gray,  and  a  beautiful  soft 
transparent  pink  and  white  complexion,  and  Evadne  had  always 
seen  her  in  a  state  of  placid  content,  never  really  interrupted 
except  by  such  surface  squalls  as  were  caused  by  having  to 
scold  the  children,  or  the  shedding  of  a  few  sunshiny  tears  ; 
and  had  thought  her  lovely.  But  when  she  entered  now,  and 
had  given  her  daughter  the  corner  of  her  cheek  to  kiss  for 
form's  sake,  she  sat  down  with  quivering  lips  and  watery  eyes 
all  red  with  crying,  and  a  broken-up  aspect  generally  which 
cut  the  girl  to  the  quick. 

"Oh,  mother  !  "  Evadne  cried,  kneeling  down  on  the  fldor 
beside  her,  and  putting  her  arms  about  her.  "  It  grieves  me 
deeply  to  see  you  so  distressed." 

But  Mrs.  Frayling  held  herself  stiffly,  refusing  to  be  embraced, 
and  presenting  a  surface  for  the  operation  as  unyielding  as  the 
figurehead  of  a  ship. 

"  If  you  are  sincere,"  she  said  severely,  "  you  will  give  up 
this  nonsense  at  once." 

Evadne's  arms  dropped,  and  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  stood, 
with  fingers  interlaced  in  front  of  her,  looking  down  at  her 
mother  for  a  moment,  and  then  up  at  the  cathedral.  Her 
talent  for  silence  came  in  naturally  here. 

"  You  don't  say  anything,  because  you  know  there  is  noth 
ing  to  be  said  for  you,"  Mrs.  Frayling  began.  "  You've  broken 
my  heart,  Evadne,  indeed  you  have.  And  after  everything 
had  gone  off  so  well  too.  What  a  tragedy  !  How  could  you 
forget  ?  And  on  the  very  day  itself  !  Your  wedding  day, 
just  think  !  Why,  we  keep  ours  every  year.  And  all  your 
beautiful  presents,  and  such  a  trousseau  !  I  am  sure  no  girl 
was  ever  more  kindly  considered  by  father,  mother,  friends — 
everybody  !  " 

She  was  obliged  to  stop  short  for  a  moment.     Ideas,  by 


Io6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

which  she  was  not  much  troubled  as  a  rule,  had  suddenly 
crowded  in  so  thick  upon  her  when  she  began  to  speak,  that 
she  became  bewildered,  and  in  an  honest  attempt  to  make  the 
most  of  them  all,  only  succeeded  in  laying  hold  of  an  end  of 
each,  to  the  great  let  and  hindrance  of  all  coherency  as  she 
herself  felt  when  she  pulled  up. 

"  Yes,  you  may  well  look  up  at  the  cathedral,"  she  began 
again,  unreasonably  provoked  by  Evadne's  attitude.  "But 
what  good  does  it  do  you  ?  I  should  have  supposed  that  the 
hallowed  associations  of  this  place  would  have  restored  you  to 
a  better  frame  of  mind." 

"  I  do  feel  the  force  of  association  strongly,"  Evadne 
answered  ;  "  and  that  is  why  I  shrink  from  Major  Colquhoun. 
People  have  their  associations  as  well  as  places,  and  those  that 
cling  about  him  are  anything  but  hallowed." 

Mrs.  Frayling  assumed  an  aspect  of  the  deepest  depression  : 
"  I  never  heard  a  girl  talk  so  in  my  life,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
positively  indelicate.  It  really  is.  But  we  have  done  all  we 
could.  Now,  honestly,  have  you  anything  to  complain  of?" 

"  Nothing,  mother,  nothing,"  Evadne  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  I 
wish  I  could  make  you  understand  !  " 

*'  Understand  !  What  is  there  to  understand  ?  It  is  easy 
enough  to  understand  that  you  have  behaved  outrageously. 
And  written  letters  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of.  Quoting 
\  Scripture  too,  for  your  own  purposes.  I  cannot  think  that  you 
are  in  your  right  mind,  Evadne,  I  really  cannot.  No  girl  ever 
acted  so  before.  If  only  you  would  read  your  Bible  properly, 
and  say  your  prayers,  you  would  see  for  yourself  and  repent. 
Besides,  what  is  to  become  of  you  ?  We  can't  have  you  at 
home  again,  you  know.  How  we  are  any  of  us  to  appear  in 
the  neighbourhood  if  the  story  gets  about — and  of  course  it 
must  get  about  if  you  persist — I  cannot  think.  And  every 
body  said,  too,  how  sweet  you  looked  on  your  wedding  day, 
Evadne  ;  but  I  said,  when  those  children  changed  clothes,  it 
was  unnatural,  and  would  bring  bad  luck  ;  and  there  was  a 
terrible  gale  blowing  too,  and  it  rained.  Everything  went  so 
well  up  to  the  very  day  itself  ;  but,  since  then,  for  no  reason 
at  all  but  your  own  wicked  obstinacy,  all  has  gone  wrong. 
You  ought  to  have  been  coming  back  from  your  honeymoon 
soon  now,  and  here  you  are  in  hiding — yes,  literally  in  hiding 
like  a  criminal,  ashamed  to  be  seen.  It  must  be  a  terrible  trial 
for  my  poor  sister,  Olive,  and  a  great  imposition  on  her  good 
nature,  having  you  here.  You  consider  no  one.  And  I  might 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  107 

have  been  a  grandmother  in  time  too,  although  I  don't  so  much 
mind  about  that,  for  I  don't  think  it  is  any  blessing  to  a  mili 
tary  man  to  have  a  family.  They  have  to  move  about  so 
much.  But,  however,  all  that  it  seems  is  over.  And  your 
poor  sisters — five  of  them — are  curious  to  know  what  George 
is  doing  all  this  time  at  Fraylingay,  and  asking  questions. 
You  cannot  have  imagined  my  difficulties,  or  you  never  would 
have  been  so  selfish  and  unnatural.  I  had  to  box  Barbara's 
ears  the  other  day,  I  had  indeed,  and  who  will  marry  them 
now,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  If  only  you  had  turned  Roman 
Catholic  and  gone  into  a  convent,  or  died,  or  never  been  born — 
oh,  dear  !  oh, dear !  " 

Evadne  looked  down  at  her  mother  again.  She  was  very 
white,  but  she  did  not  utter  a  word. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak  ? "  Mrs.  Frayling  exclaimed. 
"  Why  do  you  stand  there  like  a  stone  or  statue,  deaf  to  all 
my  arguments  ?  " 

Evadne  sighed  :  "  Mother,  I  will  do  anything  you  suggest 
except  the  one  thing.  I  will  not  live  with  Major  Colquhoun 
as  his  wife,"  she  said. 

"I  thought  so  !  "  Mrs.  Frayling  exclaimed.  "You  will  do 
everything  but  what  you  ought  to  do.  It  is  just  what  your 
father  says.  Once  you  over-educate  a  girl,  you  can  do  noth 
ing  with  her,  she  gives  herself  such  airs  ;  and  you  have 
managed  to  over-educate  yourself  somehow,  although  how 
remains  a  mystery.  But  one  thing  I  am  determined  upon. 
Your  poor  sisters  shall  never  have  a  book  I  don't  know  off  by 
heart  myself.  I  khall  lock  them  all  up.  Not  that  it  is  much 
use,  for  no  one  will  marry  them  now.  No  man  will  ever  come 
to  the  house  again  to  be  robbed  of  his  character,  as  Major 
Colquhoun  has  been  by  you.  I  am  sure  no  one  ever  knew  any 
thing  bad  about  him — at  least  /  never  did,  whatever  your  father 
may  have  done — until  you  went  and  ferreted  all  those  dread 
ful  stories  out.  You  are  shameless,  Evadne,  you  really  are. 
-And  what  good  have  you  done  by  it  all,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 
When  you  might  have  done  so  much,  too." 

Mrs.  Frayling  paused  here,  and  Evadne  looked  up  at  the 
cathedral  again,  feeling  for  her  pitifully.  This  new  view  of 
her  mother  was  another  terrible  disillusion,  and  the  more  the 
poor  lady  exposed  herself,  the  greater  Evadne  felt  was  the 
claim  she  had  upon  her  filial  tenderness. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  something  ? "  Mrs.  Frayling  recom 
menced. 


Io8  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

'*  Mother,  what  can  I  say  ?" 

"  If  you  knew  what  a  time  I  have  had  with  your  father  and 
your  husband,  you  would  pity  me.  I  can  assure  you  George 
has  been  so  sullen  there  was  no  doing  anything  with  him,  and 
the  trouble  I  have  had,  and  the  excuses  I  have  made  for  you, 
I  am  quite  worn  out.  He  said  if  you  were  that  kind  of  girl 
you  might  go,  and  I've  had  to  go  down  on  my  knees  to  him 
almost  to  make  him  forgive  you.  And  now  I  will  go  down  on 
my  knees  to  you  " — she  exclaimed,  acting  on  a  veritable  inspi 
ration,  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word — "to  beg  you  for 
the  sake  of  your  sisters,  and  for  the  love  of  God,  not  to  dis 
grace  us  all  ! " 

"Oh,  mother — no!  Don't  do  that.  Get  up— do  get  up  ! 
This  is  too  dreadful  !  "  Evadnc  cried,  almost  hysterically. 

"  Here  I  shall  kneel  until  you  give  in,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
sobbed,  clasping  her  hands  in  the  attitude  of  prayer  to  her 
daughter,  and  conscious  of  the  strength  of  her  position. 

Evadne  tried  in  vain  to  raise  her.  Her  bonnet  had  slipped 
to  one  side,  her  dress  had  been  caught  up  by  the  heels  of  her 
boots,  and  the  soles  were  showing  behind  ;  her  mantle  was 
disarranged  ;  she  was  a  figure  for  a  farce  ;  but  Evadne  saw 
only  her  own  mother,  shaken  with  sobs,  on  her  knees  before  her. 

"  Mother — mother,"  she  cried,  sinking  into  a  chair,  and 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands  to  hide  the  dreadful  spec 
tacle  :  "  Tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  !  Suggest  something  !  " 

"If  you  would  even  consent,"  Mrs.  Frayling  began,  gather 
ing  herself  up  slowly,  and  standing  over  her  daughter  ;  "  if 
you  would  even  consent  to  live  in  the  same  house  with  him 
until  you  get  used  to  him  and  forget  all  this  nonsense,  I  am 
sure  he  would  agree.  For  he  is  dreadfully  afraid  of  scanda}, 
Evadne.  I  never  knew  a  man  more  so.  In  fact,  he  shows 
nothing  but  right  and  proper  feeling,  and  you  will  love  him  as 
much  as  ever  again  when  you  know  him  better,  and  get  over 
all  these  exaggerated  ideas.  Do  consent  to  this,  dear  child, 
for-my  sake.  You  shall  have  your  own  way  in  everything  else. 
And  I  will  arrange  it  all  for  you,  and  get  his  written  promise 
to  allow  you  to  live  in  his  house  quite  independently,  like 
brother  and  sister,  as  long  as  you  like,  and  there  will  be  no 
awkwardness  for  you  whatever.  Do,  my  child,  do  consent  to 
this,"  and  the  poor  old  lady  knelt  once  more,  and  put  her  arms 
about  her  daughter,  and  wept  aloud. 

Evadne  broke  down.  The  sight  of  the  dear  face  so  distorted, 
the  poor  lips  quivering,  the  kind  eyes  all  swollen  and  blurred 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  109 

with  tears  was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  flung  her  arms  round 
her  mother's  neck  and  cried  :  "  I  consent,  mother,  for  your 
sake — to  keep  up  appearances  ;  but  only  that,  mother,  you 
promise  me.  You  will  arrange  all  that?  " 

"  I  promise  you,  my  dear,  I  promise,"  Mrs.  Frayling  rejoined, 
rising  with  alacrity,  her  countenance  clearing  on  the  instant, 
her  heart  swelling  with  the  joy  and  pride  of  a  great  victory. 
She  knew  she  had  done  what  the  whole  bench  of  bishops 
could  not  have  done — nor  that  most  remarkable  man,  her  hus 
band,  either,  for  the  matter  of  that,  and  she  enjoyed  her 
triumph. 

As  she  had  anticipated,  Major  Colquhoun  made  no  difficulty 
about  the  arrangement. 

"  I  should  not  care  a  rap  for  an  unwilling  wife,"  he  said. 
"  Let  her  go  her  way,  and  I'll  go  mine.  All  I  want  now  is  to 
keep  up  appearances.  It  would  be  a  deuced  nasty  thing  for 
me  if  the  story  got  about.  Fellows  would  think  there  was 
more  in  it  than  there  is." 

"  But  she  will  come  round,"  said  Mrs.  Frayling.  "  If  only 
you  are  nice  to  her,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  be,  she  is  sure  to 
come  round." 

"Oh,  of  course  she  will,"  Mr.  Frayling  decided. 

And  Major  Colquhoun  smiled  complacently.  He  often 
asserted  that  there  was  no  knowing  women  ;  but  he  took  credit 
to  himself  for  a  superior  knowledge  of  the  sex  all  the  same. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BEFORE  writing  the  promise  which  Evadne  required, 
Major  Colquhoun  begged  to  be  allowed  to  have  an  inter 
view  with  her,  and  to  this  also  she  consented  at  her  mother's 
earnest  solicitation,  although  the  idea  of  it  went  very  much 
against  the  grain.  She  perceived,  however,  that  the  first 
meeting  must  be  awkward  in  any  case,  and  she  was  one  of 
those  energetic  people  who,  when  there  is  a  disagreeable  thing 
to  be  done,  do  it,  and  get  it  over  at  once.  So  she  strengthened 
her  mind  by  adding  a  touch  of  severity  to  her  costume,  and 
sat  herself  down  in  the  drawing  room  with  a  book  on  her  lap 
when  the  morning  came,  well  nerved  for  the  interview.  Her 
heart  began  to  beat  unpleasantly  when  he  rang,  and  she  heard 
him  in  the  hall,  doubtless  inquiring  for  her.  At  the  sound  of 
his  voice  she  arose  from  her  seat  involuntarily,  and  stood, 


HO  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

literally  awaiting  in  fear  and  trembling  the  dreadful  moment 
of  meeting. 

"  What  a  horrible  sensation  !  "  she  ejaculated  mentally. 

"Colonel  Colquhoun,"  the  servant  announced. 

He  entered  with  an  air  of  displeasure  he  could  not  conceal, 
and  bowed  to  her  from  a  distance  stiffly  ;  but,  although  she 
looked  hard  at  him,  she  could  not  see  him,  so  great  was  her 
trepidation.  It  was  she,  however,  who  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I — I'm  nervous,"  she  gasped,  clasping  her  hands  and  hold 
ing  them  out  to  him  piteously. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  relaxed.  It  flattered  his  vanity  to  per 
ceive  that  this  curiously  well-informed  and  exceedingly  strong- 
minded  young  lady  became  as  weakly  emotional  as  any 
ordinary  school  girl  the  moment  she  found  herself  face  to 
face  with  him.  "  There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,"  he  blandly 
assured  her. 

"Will  you — sit  down,"  Evadne  managed  to  mumble,  drop 
ping  into  her  own  chair  again  from  sheer  inability  to  stand 
any  longer. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  took  a  seat  at  an  exaggerated  distance 
from  her.  His  idea  was  to  impress  her  with  a  sense  of  his 
extreme  delicacy,  but  the  act  had  a  contrary  effect  upon  her. 
His  manners  had  been  perfect  so  far  as  she  had  hitherto  seen 
them,  but  thus  to  emphasize  an  already  sufficiently  awkward 
position  was  not  good  taste,  and  she  registered  the  fact  against 
him. 

After  they  were  seated,  there  was  a  painful  pause.  Evadne 
knit  her  brows  and  cast  about  in  her  mind  for  something  to 
say.  Suddenly  the  fact  that  the  maid  had  announced  him  as 
"Colonel"  Colquhoun  recurred  to  her. 

"Have  you  been  promoted  ?"  she  asked  very  naturally. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  she  faltered. 

Again  he  bowed  stiffly. 

But  Evadne  was  recovering  herself.  She  could  look  at  him 
now,  and  it  surprised  her  to  find  that  he  was  not  in  appearance 
the  monster  she  had  been  picturing  him — no  more  a  monster, 
indeed,  than  he  had  seemed  before  she  knew  of  his  past. 
Until  now,  however,  except  for  that  one  glimpse  in  the  car 
riage,  she  had  always  seen  him  through  such  a  haze  of  feeling 
as  to  make  the  seeing  practically  null  and  void,  so  far  as  any 
perception  of  his  true  character  might  be  gathered  from  his 
appearance,  and  useless  for  anything  really  but  ordinary  pur-. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  Ill 

poses  of  identification.  Now,  however,  that  the  misty  veil  of 
passion  was  withdrawn  from  her  eyes,  the  man  whom  she 
had  thought  noble  she  saw  to  be  merely  big ;  the  face  which 
had  seemed  to  beam  with  intellect  certainly  remained  fine- 
featured  still,  but  it  was  like  the  work  of  a  talented  artist  when 
it  lacks  the  perfectly  perceptible,  indefinable  finishing  touch  of 
genius  that  would  have  raised  it  above  criticism,  and  drawn 
you  back  to  it  again,  but,  wanting  which,  after  the  first  glance 
of  admiration,  interest  fails,  and  you  pass  on  only  convinced 
of  a  certain  cleverness,  a  thing  that  soon  satiates  without  satis 
fying.  Evadne  had  seen  soul  in  her  lover's  eyes,  but  now  they 
struck  her  as  hard,  shallow,  glittering,  and  obtrusively  blue  ; 
and  she  noticed  that  his  forehead,  although  high,  shelved  back 
abruptly  to  the  crown  of  his  head,  which  dipped  down  again 
sheer  to  the  back  of  his  neck,  a  very  precipice  without  a  single 
boss  upon  which  to  rest  a  hope  of  some  saving  grace  in  the 
way  of  eminent  social  qualities.  "Thank  Heaven,  I  see  you 
as  you  are  in  time  !  "  thought  Evadne. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  was  the  next  to  speak. 

"  I  shall  be  able  to  give  you  rather  a  better  position  now," 
he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  but  she  did  not  at  all  appreciate  the 
advantage,  because  she  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  be  in 
an  inferior  position. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  with  reference  to  our  future  rela 
tions  ? "  he  continued. 

She  bowed  a  kind  of  cold  assent,  then  looked  at  him 
expectantly,  her  eyes  opening  wide,  and  her  heart  thumping 
horribly  in  the  very  natural  perturbation  which  again  seized 
upon  her  as  they  approached  the  subject ;  yet,  in  spite  of  her 
quite  perceptible  agitation,  there  was  both  dignity  and  deter 
mination  in  her  attitude,  and  Colonel  Colquhoun,  meeting  the 
unflinching  glance  direct,  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  fact 
that  the  timid  little  love-sick  girl  with  half-shut,  sleepy  eyes  he 
had  had  such  a  fancy  for,  and  this  young  lady,  modestly  shrink 
ing  in  every  inch  of  her  sensitive  frame,  but  undaunted  in  spirit, 
nevertheless,  were  two  very  different  people.  There  had  been 
misapprehension  of  character  on  both  sides,  it  seemed,  but  he 
liked  pluck,  and,  by  Jove  !  the  girl  was  handsomer  than  he 
had  imagined.  Views  or  no  views,  he  would  lay  siege  to  her 
senses  in  earnest ;  there  would  be  some  satisfaction  in  such  a 
conquest. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  for  me,  Evadne  ?"  he  pleaded. 


112  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  None — none,"  she  burst  out  impetuously,  becoming  des 
perate  in  her  embarrassment.  "But  I  cannot  discuss  the 
subject.  I  beg  you  will  let  it  drop." 

Her  one  idea  was  to  get  rid  of  this  big  blond  man,  who 
gazed  at  her  with  an  expression  in  his  eyes  from  which,  now 
that  her  own  passion  was  dead,  she  shrunk  in  revolt. 

Again  Colonel  Colquhoun  bowed  stiffly.  "  As  you  please," 
he  said.  "  My  only  wish  is  to  please  you."  He  paused  for  a 
reply,  but  as  Evadne  had  nothing  more  to  say,  he  was  obliged 
to  recommence  :  "  The  regiment,"  he  said,  "  is  going  to  Malta 
at  once,  and  I  must  go  with  it.  And  what  I  would  venture  to 
suggest  is,  that  you  should  follow  when  you  feel  inclined,  by 
P.  and  O.  Fellows  will  understand  that  I  don't  care  to  have 
you  come  out  on  a  troopship.  And  I  should  like  to  get  your 
rooms  fitted  up  for  you,  too,  before  you  arrive.  I  am  anxious 
to  do  all  in  my  power  to  meet  your  wishes.  I  will  make  every 
arrangement  with  that  end  in  view  ;  and  if  you  can  suggest 
anything  yourself  that  does  not  occur  to  me  I  shall  be  glad. 
You  had  better  bring  an  English  maid  out  with  you,  or  a 
German.  Frenchwomen  are  flighty."  He  got  up  as  he  said 
this,  and  added  :  "  You'll  like  Malta,  I  think.  It  is  a  bright 
little  place,  and  very  jolly  in  the  season." 

Evadne  rose  too.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
showing  me  more  consideration  than  I  have  any  right  to 
expect,  and  I  am  sure  to  be  satisfied  with  any  arrangement 
you  may  think  it  right  to  make." 

"  I  will  telegraph  to  you  when  my  arrangements  for  your  re 
ception  are  complete,"  he  concluded.  "And  I  think  that  is  all." 

"I  can  think  of  nothing  else,"  she  answered. 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  he  said. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  rejoined,  "  and  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  voy 
age  and  all  possible  success  with  your  regiment." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered,  putting  his  heels  together,  and 
making  her  a  profound  bow  as  he  spoke. 

So  they  parted,  and  he  went  his  way  through  the  old 
Cathedral  Close  with  that  set  expression  of  countenance  which 
he  had  worn  when  he  first  became  aware  of  her  flight.  But, 
curiously  enough,  although  he  had  no  atom  of  lover-like  feel-, 
ing  left  for  her,  and  the  amount  of  thought  she  had  displayed 
in  her  letters  had  shocked  his  most  cherished  prejudices  oi> 
the  subject  of  her  sex,  she  had  gained  in  his  estimation.  He 
liked  her  pluck.  He  felt  she  could  be  nothing  but  a  credit  ta 
him. 


THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS.  113 

She  remained  for  a  few  seconds  as  he  had  left  her,  listening 
to  his  footsteps  in  the  hall  and  the  shutting  of  the  door  ;  and 
then  from  where  she  stood  she  saw  him  pass,  and  watched  him 
out  of  sight — a  fine  figure  of  a  man,  certainly  ;  and  she  sighed. 
She  had  been  touched  by  his  consideration,  and  thought  it  a 
pity  that  such  a  kindly  disposition  should  be  unsupported  by 
the  solid  qualities  which  alone  could  command  her  lasting 
respect  and  affection. 

She  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  there  drumming  idly 
on  the  glass,  thinking  over  the  conclusion  they  had  come  to, 
for  some  time  after  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  disappeared.  She 
felt  it  to  be  a  lame  one,  and  she  was  far  from  satisfied.  But 
what,  under  the  circumstances,  would  have  been  a  better 
arrangement?  The  persistent  question  contained  in  itself  its 
own  answer.  Only  the  prospect  was  blank — blank.  The 
excitement  of  the  contest  was  over  now  ;  the  reaction  had  set 
in.  She  ventured  to  look  forward  ;  and,  seeing  for  the  first 
time  what  was  before  her,  the  long,  dark,  dreary  level  of  a 
hopelessly  uncongenial  existence,  reaching  from  here  to 
eternity,  as  it  seemed  from  her  present  point  of  view,  her 
over-wrought  nerves  gave  way  ;  and,  when  Mrs.  Orton  Beg 
came  to  her  a  moment  later,  she  threw  herself  into  her  arms 
and  sobbed  hysterically  :  "  Oh,  auntie  !  I  have  suffered  hor 
ribly  !  I  wish  I  were  dead  '  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  first  news  that  Evadne  received  on  arriving  in  Malta 
was  contained  in  a  letter  from  her  mother.    It  announced 
that  her  father  had  determined  to  cut  her  off  from  all  com 
munication  with  her  family  until  she  came  to  her  senses. 

She  had  remained  quiety  with  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  until  it  was 
time  to  leave  England.  She  did  not  want  to  go  to  Fraylingay. 
She  shrank  from  occupying  her  old  rooms  in  her  new  state  of 
mind,  and  she  would  not  have  thought  of  proposing  such  a 
thing  herself ;  but  she  did  half  expect  to  be  asked.  This  not 
liking  to  return  home,  not  recognizing  it  as  home  any  longer, 
or  herself  as  having  any  right  to  go  there  uninvited,  marked 
the  change  in  her  position,  and  made  her  realize  it  with  a 
pang.  Her  mother  came  and  went,  but  she  brought  no 
message  from  her  father  nor  ever  mentioned  him.  Something 
in  ourselves  warns  us  at  once  of  any  change  of  feeling  in  a 


H4  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

friend,  and  Evadne  asked  no  questions,  and  sent  no  messages 
either.  But  this  attitude  did  not  satisfy  her  father  at  all.  He 
thought  it  her  duty  clearly  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet  and  beg 
for  mercy  and  forgiveness  ;  and  he  waited  for  her  to  make  some 
sign  of  contrition  until  his  patience  could  hold  out  no  longer, 
and  then  he  asked  his  wife  :  "  Has  Evadne — eh — what  is  her 
attitude  at  present?" 

"  She  is  perfectly  cheerful  and  happy,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
replied. 

"  She  expresses  no  remorse  for  her  most  unjustifiable  con 
duct  ? " 

"She  thinks  she  only  did  what  is  right,"  Mrs.  Frayling 
reminded  him. 

"Then  she  is  quite  indifferent  to  my  opinion  ?"  he  began, 
swelling  visibly  and  getting  red  in  the  face.  "  Has  she  asked 
what  I  think?  Does  she  ever  mention  me?" 

"  No,  never,"  Mrs.  Frayling  declared  apprehensively. 

"  A  most  unnatural  child,"  he  exclaimed  in  his  pompous 
way  ;  "  a  most  unnatural  child." 

It  was  after  this  that  he  became  obstinately  determined  to 
cut  Evadne  off  from  all  communication  with  her  friends  until 
she  should  become  reconciled  to  Colonel  Colquhoun  as  a  hus 
band.  Mr.  Frayling  was  not  an  astute  man.  He  was  sim 
ply  incapable  of  sitting  down  and  working  out  a  deliberate 
scheme  of  punishment  which  should  have  the  effect  of  bringing 
Evadne's  unruly  spirit  into  what  he  considered  proper  subjec 
tion.  In  this  matter  he  acted,  not  upon  any  system  which  he 
could  have  reduced  to  writing,  but  rather  as  the  lower  animals 
do  when  they  build  nests,  or  burrow  in  the  graund,  or  repeat, 
generation  after  generation,  other  arrangements  of  a  like  nature 
with  a  precision  which  the  cumulative  practice  of  the  race 
makes  perfect  in  each  individual.  He  possessed  a  certain 
faculty,  transmitted  from  father  to  son,  that  gives  the  stupidest 
man  a  power  in  his  dealings  with  women  which  the  brightest 
intelligence  would  not  acquire  without  it ;  and  he  used  to  ob 
tain  his  end  with  the  decision  of  instinct,  which  is  always 
neater  and  more  effectual  than  reason  and  artifice  in  such 
matters.  He  denied  hotly,  for  instance,  that  Evadne  had  any 
natural  affection,  and  yet  it  was  upon  that  woman's  weakness 
of  hers  that  he  set  to  work  at  once,  proving  himself  to  be  pos 
sessed  of  a  perfect,  if  unconscious,  knowledge  of  her  most 
vulnerable  point;  and  he  displayed  much  ingenuity  in  his 
manner  of  making  it  a  means  of  torture.  He  let  no  hint  of 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  11$ 

the  Cruel  edict  be  breathed  before  she  went  abroad ;  she 
might  have  altered  her  arrangements  had  she  known  of  it  before, 
and  remained  with  Mrs.  Orton  Beg — and  there  was  something 
of  foresight  too,  in  timing  her  mother's  tear-stained  letter  of 
farewell,  good  advice,  pious  exhortation,  and  plaintive  reproach 
to  meet  her  on  her  arrival,  to  greet  her  on  the  threshold  of 
her  new  life,  and  make  her  realize  the  terrible  gulf  which  she 
was  setting  between  herself  and  those  who  were  dearest  to  her, 
by  her  obstinacy. 

The  object  was  to  make  her  suffer,  and  she  did  suffer ;  but 
her  father's  cruelty  did  not  alter  the  facts  of  the  case,  or 
appeal  to  her  reason  as  an  argument  worthy  to  influence  her 
decision. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  ventured  to  express  her  opinion  to  Mr. 
Frayling  on  the  subject  seriously.  She  often  said  more  to  him 
in  her  quiet  way  than  most  people  would  have  dared  to. 

"  I  think  you  are  making  a  mistake,""  she  said. 

"  What !  "  he  exclaimed,  ready  to  bluster  ;  "  Would  you  have 
me  countenance  such  conduct?  Why,  it  is  perfectly  revolu 
tionary.  If  other  women  follow  her  example,  not  one  man  in 
ten  will  be  able  to  get  a  wife  when  he  wants  to  marry." 

"  It  is  very  terrible,"  she  answered  in  her  even  way,  "  to 
hear  that  so  large  a  majority  will  be  condemned  to  celibacy  ; 
but  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  good  grounds  for  making  the 
assertion.  That  is  not  the  point,  however.  What  I  was  think 
ing  of  was  the  risk  you  run  of  bringing  more  serious  trouble 
on  yourself  by  cutting  Evadne  adrift  from  every  influence  of 
her  happy  childhood,  and  casting  her  lot  among  strangers,  and 
into  a  world  of  intrigue  alone." 

"  She  will  come  to  her  senses  when  she  finds  herself  so 
situated,  perhaps,"  he  retorted  testily ;  "  and  if  she  does  not, 
it  will  just  show  that  she  is  incorrigible." 

Evadne  answered  this  last  letter  of  her  mother's  with 
dignity. 

"  Of  course  I  regret  my  father's  decision  [she  wrote],  and  I 
consider  it  neither  right  nor  wise.  But  I  shall  take  the  liberty 
of  writing  to  you  regularly  every  mail  nevertheless.  I  know 
my  letters  will  be  a  pleasure  to  you  although  you  cannot 
answer  them.  But  where  is  the  reason  and  right,  mother,  in 
this  decision  of  my  father's  ?  We  both  know,  you  and  I,  that 
it  is  merely  the  outcome  of  irritation  caused  by  a  difference  ot 
opinion,  and  no  more  binding  in  reason  upon  you  than  upon  me." 


Ii6  THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

When  Mrs.  Frayling  received  this  letter,  she  wrote  a  hurried 
note  to  Evadne,  saying  that  she  did  think  her  husband  un 
reasonable,  and  also  that  he  had  no  right  to  separate  her  from 
•any  of  her  children,  and  that  therefore  she  should  write  to 
Evadne  as  often  as  she  liked,  but  without  letting  him  know  it. 
She  thought  his  injustice  quite  justified  such  tactics ;  but 
Evadne  answered,  "  No !  " 

"  There  has  been  too  much  of  that  kind  of  cowardice  among 
women  already  [she  wrote].  Whatever  we  do  we  should  do 
openly  and  fearlessly.  We  are  not  the  property  of  our  hus 
bands  ;  they  do  not  buy  us.  We  are  perfectly  free  agents  to 
write  to  whomsoever  we  please,  and  so  long  as  we  order  our 
lives  in  all  honour  and  decency,  they  have  no  more  right  to 
interfere  with  us  than  we  with  them.  Tell  him  once  for  all 
that  you  see  no  reason  in  his  request,  and  write  openly. 
What  can  he  do  ?  Storm,  I  suppose.  But  storming  is  no 
proof  of  his  right  to  interfere  between  you  and  me.  Once  on 
a  time  the  ignorant  were  taught  to  believe  that  the  Lord  spoke 
in  the  thunder,  and  they  could  be  influenced  through  their 
terror  and  respect  to  do  anything  while  an  opportune  storm  was 
raging ;  and  when  women  were  weak  and  ignorant  men  used 
their  wrath  in  much  the  same  way  to  convince  them  of  error. 
To  us,  educated  as  we  are,  however,  an  outburst  of  rage  is 
about  as  effectual  an  argument  as  a  clap  of  thunder  would  be. 
Both  are  startling  I  grant,  but  what  do  they  prove?  I  have 
seen  my  father  in  a  rage.  His  face  swells  and  gets  very  red,  he 
prances  up  and  down  the  room,  he  shouts  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
and  presents  altogether  a  very  disagreeable  spectacle  which 
one  never  quite  forgets.  But  he  cannot  go  like  that  forever, 
mother.  So  tell  him  gently  you  have  been  thinking  about  his 
proposition,  and  are  sorry  that  you  find  you  must  differ  from 
him,  but  you  consider  that  it  is  clearly  your  duty  to  correspond 
with  me.  Then  sit  still,  and  say  nothing,  and  let  him  storm 
till  he  is  tired  ;  and  when  he  goes  out  and  bangs  the  door, 
finish  your  letter,  and  put  it  in  a  conspicuous  position  on  the 
hall  table  to  be  posted.  He  will  scarcely  tear  it  up,  but  if  he 
does,  write  another,  send  it  to  the  post  yourself,  and  tell  him 
you  have  done  so,  and  shall  continue  to  do  so.  Be  open  be 
fore  everything,  and  stand  upon  your  dignity.  Things  have 
come  to  a  pretty  pass,  indeed,  when  an  honourable  woman 
only  dares  to  write  to  her  own  daughter  surreptitiously,  as  if 
she  were  doing  something  she  should  be  ashamed  of." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  1 17 

Poor  Mrs.  Frayling  was  not  equal  to  such  opposition.  She 
would  rather  have  faced  a  thunderstorm  than  her  husband  in 
his  wrath,  so  she  concealed  Evadne's  letter  from  him,  and 
wrote  to  her  again  surreptitiously  in  order  to  reproach  her  for 
seeming  to  insinuate  that  she,  her  mother,  would  stoop  to  do 
anything  underhand.  Evadne  sighed  when  she  received  this 
letter,  and  thought  of  letting  the  matter  drop.  Why  should 
she  dislike  to  see  her  father  in  the  position  unreasonable  hus 
bands  and  fathers  usually  occupy,  that  of  being  ostensibly 
obeyed  while  in  reality  they  are  carefully  kept  in  the  dark  as 
to  what  is  going  on  about  them  ?  And  why  should  she  object 
to  allow  her  mother  to  act  as  so  many  other  worthy  but  weak 
women  daily  do  in  self-defence  and  for  the  love  of  peace  and 
quietness  ?  There  seemed  to  be  no  great  good  to  be  gained 
by  persisting,  and  she  might  perhaps  have  ended  by  acquies 
cing  under  protest  if  her  mother  had  not  added  by  way  of  post 
script  :  "  I  doubt  very  much  if  I  shall  be  allowed  to  receive 
your  letters.  Your  father  will  probably  send  any  he  may  cap 
ture  straight  back  to  you  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  he  will  insist  upon 
seeing  them,  so  do  not,  my  dear  child,  allude  to  having  heard 
from  me.  I  earnestly  entreat  you  to  remember  this." 

But  the  request  only  made  Evadne's  blood  boil  again.  She 
did  not  belong  to  the  old  corrupt  state  of  things  herself,  and 
she  would  not  submit  to  anything  savouring  of  deceit.  If  her 
mother  were  too  weak  to  assert  her  own  independence  she  felt 
herself  forced  to  do  it  for  her,  so  she  wrote  to  her  father 
sharply : 

"  My  mother  tells  me  that  you  intend  to  stop  all  communi 
cation  between  her  and  myself.  I  consider  that  you  have  no 
right  to  do  anything  of  the  kind,  and  unless  I  hear  from  her 
regularly  in  answer  to  my  letters,  I  shall  be  reluctantly  com 
pelled  to  send  a  detailed  statement  of  my  case  to  every  paper 
in  the  kingdom  in  order  to  find  out  from  my  fellow  country 
women  what  their  opinion  of  your  action  in  the  matter  is,  and 
also  what  they  would  advise  us  to  do.  You  know  my  mother's 
affection  for  you.  You  have  never  had  any  reason  to  complain 
of  want  of  devotion  on  her  part,  and  when  you  make  your  dis 
agreement  with  me  a  whip  to  scourge  her  with,  you  are  guilty 
of  an  unjustifiable  act  of  oppression." 

This  letter  arrived  at  Fraylingay  late  one  afternoon,  and 
was  handed  to  Mr.  Frayling  on  his  return  from  a  pleasant 


Ii8  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

country  ride.  He  read  it  standing  in  the  hall,  and  lost  his 
equanimity  at  once. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Frayling?"  he  asked  a  servant  who  hap 
pened  to  be  passing,  speaking  in  a  way  which  caused  the  man 
to  remark  afterward  that  "Mrs.  Frayling  was  going  to  catch 
it  about  somethin';  and  'e  seemed  to  think  I'd  made  away 
with  'er." 

Mrs.  Frayling  was  in  the  drawing  room,  writing  one  of  her 
pleasant  chatty  letters  to  a  friend  in  India,  with  a  cheerful 
expression  on  her  comely  countenance,  and  all  recollections  of 
her  domestic  difficulties  banished  for  the  moment. 

When  Mr.  Frayling  entered  in  his  riding  dress,  with  his 
whip  in  his  hand  and  his  hat  on  his  head  (he  was  one  of  those 
men  who  are  most  punctilious  with  strange  ladies,  but  do  not 
feel  it  necessary  to  behave  like  gentlemen  in  the  presence  of 
their  own  wives,  making  it  appear  as  if  the  latter  had  lost  cast 
and  forfeited  all  claim  to  their  respect  by  marrying  them)  Mrs. 
Frayling  looked  round  from  her  writing  and  smiled. 

"Have  you  had  a  nice  ride,  dear?"  she  said. 

"  Read  that  !  "  he  exclaimed,  slapping  Evadne's  letter  with 
his  whip,  and  then  throwing  it  down  on  the  table  before  her 
rudely  :  "  Read  that,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  your 
daughter  now  !  "  Mrs.  Frayling's  fair  face  clouded  on  the 
instant,  and  her  affectionate  heart,  which  had  been 'so  happily 
expanded  the  moment  before  by  the  kind  thoughts  about  her 
absent  friend  that  came  crowding  as  she  wrote  to  her,  con 
tracted  now  with  a  painful  spasm  of  nervous  apprehension. 

She  read  the  letter  through,  and  then  put  it  down  on  the 
table  beside  her  without  a  word.  She  did  not  look  at  her 
husband,  but  at  some  miniatures  which  hung  on  the  wall 
before  her.  They  were  portraits  of  her  own  people,  father, 
mother,  grandmother,  a  great  aunt  and  uncle,  and  other  near 
relations,  together  with  a  brother  and  sister  much  older  than 
herself,  and  both  dead,  and  forgotten  as  a  rule  :  but  at  that 
moment  all  that  she  had  ever  known  of  them,  details  of  merry 
games  together,  and  childish  naughtinesses  which  got  them  into 
trouble  at  the  time  but  made  them  appear  to  have  been  only 
amusingly  mischievous  now,  recurred  to  her  in  one  great  flash 
of  memory,  which  showed  her  also  some  lost  illusions  of  her 
early  girlhood  about  a  husband's  love  and  tenderness,  his  con 
stant  friendship,  the  careful,  patient  teaching  of  the  more 
powerful  mind  which  was  to  strengthen  her  mind  and  enlarge 
it  too,  and  the  constant  companionship  which  would  banish 


THE   HEAVENLY    TWINS.  119 

for  ever  the  indefinite  gnawing  sense  of  loneliness  from  which 
all  healthy^  young,  unmated  creatures  surfer.  She  had  act 
ually  expected  at  one  time  to  be  more  to  her  husband  than 
the  mere  docile  female  of  his  own  kind  which  was  all  he 
wanted  his  wife  to  be.  She  had  had  aspirations  which  had 
caused  her  to  yearn  for  help  to  develop  something  beyond  the 
animal  side  of  her,  proving  the  possession  in  embryo  of  facul 
ties  other  than  those  which  had  survived  Mr.  Frayling's  rule  ; 
but  her  nature  was  plastic  ;  one  of  those  which  requires  the 
strong  and  delicate  hand  of  a  master  to  mould  it  into  distinct 
and  lovely  form.  Motherhood,  as  it  had  appeared  to  her  in 
the  delicate  dreams  of  those  young  days,  had  promised  to  be  a 
beautiful  and  blessed  privilege,  but  then  the  children  of  her 
happy  imaginings  had  been  less  her  own  than  those  of  the 
shadowy  perfection  who  was  to  have  been  her  husband.  She 
had  little  sense  of  humour,  but  yet  she  could  have  smiled 
when,  in  this  moment  of  absolute  insight,  see  saw  the  ideal 
compared  with  the  real  husband,  this  great  fat  country  gentle 
man.  The  folly  of  having  expected  even  motherhood  with 
such  a  father  for  her  children  to  be  anything  but  unsatisfactory 
and  disappointing  at  the  best,  dawned  upon  her  for  an  instant 
with  disheartening  effect.  But,  fortunately,  the  outlook  was 
so  hopeless  there  seemed  nothing  more  to  sigh  for,  and  so  she 
sat  for  once,  looking  up  at  the  miniatures  without  washing  out 
with  tears  the  little  mental  strength  she  had  left. 

Mr.  Frayling  w.aited  impatiently  for  her  to  make  some 
remark  when  she  had  read  Evadne's  letter.  Almost  anything 
she  could  have  said  must  have  given  him  some  further  food 
for  provocation,  and  there  is  nothing  more  gratifying  to  an 
angry  man  than  fresh  fuel  for  his  wrath.  However,  silence 
sometimes  fans  the  flame  as  effectually  as  words,  and  it  did  so 
on  this  occasion,  for,  having  waited  till  he  could  contain  him 
self  no  longer,  he  burst  out  so  suddenly  that  Mrs.  Frayling 
raised  her  large  soft  white  hand  to  the  heavy  braids  which  it 
was  then  the  fashion  to  pile  high  on  the  head  and  have  hang 
ing  down  in  two  rows  to  the  nape  of  the  neck  behind,  as  if 
she  expected  them  to  be  disarranged  by  the  concussion. 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  approve  of  that  letter?"  he  demanded. 

But  she  only  set  her  lips. 

Mr.  Frayling  took  a  turn  about  the  room  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  holding  his  riding  whip  upright,  and  flicking 
himself  between  the  shoulders  with  it  as  he  went. 

"Let  her  write  to  the  papers  !  "  he  exclaimed,  addressing  the 


120  THE  HEAVENLY  TWIDS. 

pictures  on  the  walls  as  if  he  were  sure  of  their  sympathy, 
"  Let  her  write  to  the  papers.  I  don't  care  what  she  does. 
I  cast  her  off  forever.  This  comes  of  the  higher  education 
of  women  ;  a  promising  specimen  !  Woman's  rights,  indeed  ! 
Woman's  shamelessness  and  want  of  common  decency 
once  she  is  let  loose  from  proper  control.  She'll  make  the 
matter  public,  will  she  ?  A  girl  of  nineteen  !  and  take  the 
opinion  of  her  fellow  countrywomen  on  the  subject,  egad  ! 
because  I  won't  let  her  mother  write  to  her  :  and  my  not  doing 
so  is  an  unjustifiable  act  of  oppression,  is  it?  What  do  you 
consider  it  yourself  ?  "  he  demanded  of  his  wife,  striding  up  to 
her,  and  standing  over  her  in  a  way  which,  with  a  flourish  of 
the  whip,  was  unpleasantly  suggestive  of  an  impulse  to  visit 
her  daughter's  offence  upon  her  shoulders  actually  as  well  as 
figuratively. 

Mrs.  Frayling  did  not  shrink,  but  her  comely  pink  and 
white  face,  usually  so  lineless  in  its  healthy  matronly  plump 
ness,  suddenly  took  on  a  look  of  age  and  hardness,  the  one 
moment  of  horrid  repulsion  marking  it  more  deeply  than  years 
of  those  household  cares  which  write  themselves  on  the  mind 
without  contracting  the  heart  had  done. 

"  Do  you  consider,5'  he  repeated,  "  that  I  have  been  guilty 
of  an  unmanly  act  of  oppression  ?" 

"  I  think  you  have  been  very  unkind,"  she  answered,  mean 
ing  the  same  thing.  "  Her  conduct  was  bad  enough  to  begin 
with,  but  now  it  will  be  ten  times  worse.  She  will  write  to  the 
papers,  if  she  says  she  will.  Evadne  is  as  brave —  !  You 
can't  understand  her  courage.  She  will  do  anything  she 
thinks  right.  And  now  there  will  be  a  public  scandal  after 
all  we  have  done  to  prevent  it,  and  you  will  never  be  able  to 
show  your  face  again  anywhere,  for  there  isn't  a  mother  in  the 
country  from  her  Majesty  downward,  who  will  not  take  my 
part  and  say  you  have  no  right  to  separate  me  from  my 
daughter." 

"  I  know  what  the  end  of  it  will  be."  he  roared.  "  I  know 
what  happens  when  women  leave  the  beaten  track.  They  go 
to  the  bad  altogether.  That's  what  will  happen,  you'll  see. 
She'll  write  a  volume  next  to  prove  that  she  has  a  right  to  be 
an  immoral  woman  if  she  chooses.  She'll  be  a  common  hussey 
yet,  I  promise  you." 

"  Sir!  "said  Mrs.  Frayling,  stung  into  dignity  for  a  moment, 
and  rising  to  her  feet  in  order  to  confront  him  boldly  while 
she  spoke.  "  Sir,  1  have  been  a  good  and  loyal  wife  to  you, 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  12 1 

as  my  daughter  says,  and  it  seems  she  was  right  too,  when 
she  declared  that  you  are  capable  of  making  your  disap 
proval  of  her  opinions  a  whip  to  scourge  me  with  ;  but  I 
warn  you,  if  you  do  not  instantly  retract  that  cowardly  insult, 
I  shall  walk  straight  out  of  your  house,  and  make  the  matter 
public  myself." 

Mr.  Frayling  stared  at  her.  "  I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Eliza 
beth,"  he  faltered  in  sheer  astonishment.  "  What  with  you 
and  your  daughter,  I  am  provoked  past  endurance.  I  don't 
know  what  I  am  saying." 

"No  amount  of  provocation  justifies  such  an  attack  upon 
your  daughter's  reputation,"  Mrs.  Frayling  rejoined,  following 
up  her  advantage.  "  If  she  had  been  that  kind  of  girl  she 
would  not  have  objected  to  Colonel  Colquhoun  ;  and  at  any 
rate  she  has  every  right  to  as  much  of  your  charity  as  you 
give  him." 

"  Women  are  different,"  Mr.  Frayling  ventured  feebly. 

"  Are  they  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Frayling,  some  of  Evadne's  wisdom 
occurring  to  her  with  the  old  worn  axiom  upon  which  for  un 
told  ages  the  masculine  excuse  for  self-indulgence  at  the  ex 
pense  of  the  woman  has  rested.  "  I  believe  Evadne  is  right 
after  all.  I  shall  get  out  her  letters,  and  read  them  again. 
And  what  is  more,  I  shall  write  to  her  just  as  often  as  I 
please." 

Mr.  Frayling  stared  again  in  his  amazement,  and  then  he  v 
walked  out  of  the  room  without  uttering  another  word.  He  \ 
had  not  foreseen  the  possibility  of  such  spirited  conduct  on  the 
part  of  his  wife  ;  but  since  she  had  ventured  to  revolt,  the 
question  of  a  public  scandal  was  disposed  of,  and  that  being  a 
consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished,  he  said  no  more,  salving 
his  lust  of  power  with  the  reflection  that,  by  deciding  the  ques 
tion  for  herself,  she  had  removed  all  responsibility  from  his 
shoulders,  and  proved  herself  to  be  a  contumacious  woman  and 
blameworthy.  So  long  as  there  is  no  risk  of  publicity  the 
domestic  tyrannies  of  respectable  elderly  gentlemen  of  irasci 
ble  disposition  may  be  carried  to  any  length,  but  once  there  is 
a  threat  of  scandal  they  coil  up. 

By  that  one  act  of  overt  rebellion,  Mrs.  Frayling  secured 
some  comfort  in  her  life  for  a  few  months  at  least,  and  taught 
her  husband  a  little  lesson  which  she  ought  to  have  endeavoured 
to  inculcate  long  before.  It  was  too  late  then,  however,  to  do 
him  any  permanent  good  ;  the  habit  of  the  slave-driver  was 
formed.  When  3  woman  sacrifices  her  individuality  and  the 


122  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

right  of  private  judgment  at  the  outset  of  her  married  life,  and 
limits  herself  to"  What  thoubiddest,  unargued  I  obey,"  taking 
it  for  granted  that  "  God  is  thy  law,"  without  making  any  in 
quiries,  and  accepting  the  assertion  that  "  To  know  no  more 
is  woman's  happiest  knowledge,  and  her  praise,"  as  confidently 
as  if  the  wisdom  of  it  had  been  proved  beyond  a  doubt,  and  its 
truth  had  never  been  known  to  fail  in  a  single  instance,  she 
withdraws  from  her  poor  husband  all  the  help  of  her  keener 
spiritual  perceptions,  which  she  should  have  used  with  authority 
to  hold  his  grosser  nature  in  check,  and  leaves  him  to  drift 
about  on  his  own  conceit,  prejudices,  and  inclinations,  until  he 
is  past  praying  for. 

There  was  a  temporary  lull  at  Fraylingay  after  that  last 
battle,  during  which  Mrs.  Frayling  wrote  to  her  daughter  freely 
and  frequently.  She  described  the  fight  she  had  had  for  her 
rights,  and  concluded  :  "  Now  the  whole  difficulty  has  blown 
over,  and  I  have  no  more  opposition  to  contend  against" — to 
which  Evadne  had  replied  in  a  few  word's  judiciously,  adding : 

'*  Before  the  curing  of  a  strong  disease, 
Even  in  the  instant  of  repair  and  health, 
The  fit  is  strongest ;  evils  that  take  leave, 
On  their  departure  most  of  all  show  evil." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IT  came  to  be  pretty  generally  known  that  all  had  not  gone 
well  with  the  Colquhouns  immediately  after  their  marriage. 
Something  of  the  story  had  of  necessity  leaked  out  through 
the  servants;  but,  as  the  Fraylings  had  the  precaution,  common 
to  their  class,  to  keep  their  private  troubles  to  themselves, 
nobody  knew  precisely  what  the  difficulty  had  been,  and  their 
intimate  friends,  whom  delicacy  d  barred  from  making  in 
quiries,  least  of  all.  Lady  Adeline  just  mentioned  the  matter 
to  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  and  asked,  6'  Is  it  a  difficulty  that  may  be 
discussed  ? " 

"No,  better  not,  I  think,"  the  latter  answered, and  of  course 
the  subject  dropped. 

But  poor  Lady  Adeline  was  too  much  occupied  with  domes 
tic  anxieties  of  her  own  at  that  time  to  feel  more  than  a  pass 
ing  gleam  of  sympathetic  interest  in  other  people's.  As  Lord 
Dawne  had  hinted  to  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  it  was  now  a  question 
pf  how  best  to  educate  the  twins.  Their  parents  had  made 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  123 

what  they  considered  suitable  arrangements  for  their  instruc 
tion  ;  but  the  children,  unfortunately,  were  not  satisfied  with 
these.  They  had  had  a  governess  in  common  while  they  were 
still  quite  small  ;  but  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  had  old-fashioned 
ideas  about  the  superior  education  of  boys,  and  consequently, 
when  the  children  had  outgrown  their  nursery  governess,  he 
decided  that  Angelica  should  have  another,  more  advanced  ; 
and  had  at  the  same  time  engaged  a  tutor  for  Diavolo,  send 
ing  him  to  school  being  out  of  the  question  because  of  the  fear 
of  further  trouble  from  the  artery  he  had  severed.  When  this 
arrangement  became  known,  the  children  were  seen  to  put 
their  heads  together. 

"  Do  we  like  having  different  teachers  ?  "  Diavolo  inquired 
tentatively. 

*'  No,  we  don't,"  said  Angelica. 

Lady  Adeline  had  tried  to  prepare  the  governess,  but  the 
latter  brought  no  experience  of  anything  like  Angelica  to  help 
her  to  understand  that  young  lady,  and  so  the  warning  went 
for  nothing.  "  A  little  affection  goes  a  long  way  with  a  child." 
she  said  to  Lady  Adeline,  "  and  I  always  endeavour  to  make 
my  pupils  understand  that  I  care  for  them,  and  do  not  wish  to 
make  their  lessons  a  task,  but  a  pleasure  to  them." 

"  It  is  a  good  system,  I  should  think,"  Lady  Adeline 
observed,  speaking  dubiously,  however. 

"  Can  you  do  long  division,  my  dear,"  the  governess  asked 
Angelica  when  they  sat  down  to  lessons  for  the  first  time. 

"  No,  Miss  Apsley,"  Angelica  answered  sweetly. 

"  Then  I  will  show  you  how.  But  you  must  attend,  you 
know," — this  last  was  said  with  playful  authority. 

So  Angelica  attended. 

"  How  did  you  get  on  this  morning?  "  Lady  Adeline  asked 
Miss  Apsley  anxiously  afterward. 

"  Oh,  perf  ctly  "  the  latter  answered.  "  The  dear  child  was 
all  interest  and  endeavour.5' 

Lady  Adeline  said  no  more  ;  but  such  docility  was  un 
natural,  and  she  did  not  like  the  look  of  it  at  all. 

Next  day  Angelica,  with  an  innocent  air,  gave  Miss  Apsley 
a  long  division  sum  which  she  had  completed  during  the  night. 
It  was  done  by  an  immense  number  of  figures,  and  covered 
four  sheets  of  foolscap  gummed  together.  Miss  Apsley  worked 
at  it  for  an  hour  to  verify  it,  and,  finding  it  quite  correct,  she 
decided  that  Angelica  knew  long  division  enough,  and  must  go 
on  to  something  else.  Her  first  impression  was  that  she  had 


1^4  ?&£  HEAVENLY 

secured  a  singularly  apt  pupil,  and  she  was  much  surprised, 
when  she  began  to  teach  Angelica  the  next  rule  in  arithmetic, 
to  find  that  she  could  not  make  the  dear  child  see  it.  Angelica 
listened,  and  tried,  with  every  appearance  of  honest  intention, 
getting  red  and  hot  with  the  effort ;  and  she  would  not  put 
the  slate  down  ;  she  would  go  on  trying  till  her  head  ached, 
she  was  so  eager  to  learn  ;  but  work  as  she  might,  she  could 
do  nothing  but  long  division.  Miss  Apsley  said  she  had  never 
known  anything  so  singular.  Lady  Adeline  sighed. 

For  about  a  week,  the  twins  "  lay  low." 

The  tutor  had  found  it  absolutely  impossible  to  teach 
Diavolo  anything.  The  boy  was  perfectly  docile.  He  would 
sit  with  his  bright  eyes  riveted  on  his  master's  face,  listening 
with  might  and  main  apparently  ;  but  at  the  end  of  every 
explanation  the  tutor  found  the  same  thing.  Diavolo  never 
had  the  faintest  idea  of  what  he  had  been  talking  about. 

At  the  end  of  a  week,  however,  the  children  changed  their 
tactics.  When  lessons  ought  to  have  begun  one  morning 
Diavolo  went  to  Miss  Apsley,  and  sat  himself  down  beside  her 
in  Angelica's  place,  with  a  smiling  countenance  and  without 
a  word  of  explanation  ;  while  Angelica  presented  herself  to 
the  tutor  with  all  Diavolo's  books  under  her  arm. 

"  Please,  sir,"  she  said,  "  there  must  have  been  some  mistake. 
Diavolo  and  I  find  that  we  were  mixed  somehow  wrong,  and 
I  got  his  mind  and  he  got  mine.  I  can  do  his  lessons  quite 
easily,  but  I  can't  do  my  own  ;  and  he  can  do  mine,  but  he 
can't  do  these  " — holding  up  the  books.  "It's  like  this,  you 
see.  I  can't  learn  from  a  lady,  and  he  can't  learn  from  a  man. 
So  I'm  going  to  be  your  pupil,  and  he's  going  to  be  Miss 
Apsley's.  You  don't  understand  twins,  I  expect.  It's  always 
awkward  about  them ;  there's  so  often  something  wrong. 
With  us,  you  know,  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  7  am  Diavolo 
and  he  is  me." 

The  tutor  and  governess  appealed  to  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells, 
and  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  sent  for  the  twins  and  lectured  them, 
Lady  Adeline  sitting  by,  seriously  perplexed.  The  children 
stood  to  attention  together,  and  listened  respectfully  ;  and 
then  went  back  to  their  lessons  with  undeviating  cheerful 
ness  ;  but  Diavolo  did  Angelica's,  and  Angelica  did  his  dili 
gently,  and  none  other  would  they  do. 

But  this  state  of  things  could  not  continue,  and  in  order  to 
end  it,  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  had  recourse  to  a  weak  expedient 
which  he  had  more  than  once  successfully  employed  unknown 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  125 

to  Lady  Adeline.  He  sent  for  the  twins,  and  consulted  their 
wishes  privately. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  sir,"  Diavolo  answered,  "  we  don't  think  it's  fair  for 
Angelica  only  to  have  a  beastly  governess  to  teach  her  when 
she  knows  as  much  as  I  do,  and  is  a  precious  sight  sharper." 

"  I  taught  you  all  you  know,  Diavolo,  didn't  I  ? "  Angelica 
broke  in. 

"  Yes,"  said  Diavolo,  with  a  wise  nod. 

"And  it  is  beastly  unfair,"  she  continued,  "to  put  me  off 
with  a  squeaking  governess  and  long  division,  when  I  ought 
to  be  doing  mathematics  and  Latin  and  Greek." 

"  My  dear  child,  what  use  would  mathematics  and  Latin 
and  Greek  be  to  you  ?  "  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  protested. 

"  Just  as  much  use  as  they  will  to  Diavolo,"  she  answered 
decidedly.  "  He  doesn't  know  half  as  much  about  the  good 
of  education  as  I  do.  Just  ask  him."  She  whisked  round  on 
her  brother  as  she  spoke,  and  demanded :  "  Tell  papa, 
Diavolo,  what  is  the  use  of  being  educated  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  Diavolo  answered  impressively. 

"  My  dear  boy,  mathematics  are  an  education  in  themselves." 
Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  began  didactically,  moving  his  long  white 
hands  in  a  way  that  always  suggested  lace  ruffles.  "  They 
will  teach  you  to  reason." 

"  Then  they'll  teach  me  to  reason  too,"  said  Angelica,  set- 
ting  herself  down  on  the  arm  of  a  chair  as  if  she  had  made 
up  her  mind,  and  intended  to  let  them  know  it.  All  her  move 
ments  were  quick,  all  Diavolo's  deliberate.  "  Men  are  always 
jeering  at  women  in  books  for  not  being  able  to  reason,  and 
I'm  going  to  learn,  if  there's  any  help  in  mathematics,"  she 
continued.  "  I  found  something  the  other  day — where  is  it 
now?"  She  was  down  on  her  knees  in  a  moment,  emptying 
the  contents  of  her  pocket  on  to  the  floor,  and  sifting  them. 
There  were  two  pocket-handkerchiefs  of  fine  texture,  and 
exceedingly  dirty,  as  if  they  had  been  there  for  months  (the 
one  she  used  she  carried  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress  or  up  her 
sleeve),  a  ball  of  string,  a  catapult  and  some  swan  shot,  a  silver 
pen,  a  pencil  holder,  part  of  an  old  song  book,  a  pocket  book, 
some  tin  tacks,  a  knife  with  several  blades  and  scissors,  etc.; 
also  a  silver  fruit  knife,  two  coloured  pencils,  indiarubber,  and 
a  scrap  of  dirty  paper  wrapped  round  a  piece  of  almond  toffee. 
This  was  apparently  what  she  wanted,  for  she  took  it  off  the 
toffee,  threw  the  latter  into  the  grate — whither  Diavolo's  eyes 


I2<5  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

followed  it  regretfully — and  spread  the  paper  out  on  her  lap, 
whence  it  was  seen  to  be  covered  with  cabalistic. looking 
figures. 

"  Here  you  are,"  she  said.  "  I  copied  it  out  of  a  book  the 
other  day,  and  put  it  round  the  toffee  because  I  knew  I  should 
be  wanting  that,  and  then  I  should  see  it  every  time  I  took  it 
out  of  my  pocket,  and  not  forget  it." 

"But  why  did  you  throw  the  toffee  away?"  said  Diavolo. 

"  Shut  up,  and  listen,"  Angelica  rejoined  from  the  floor 
politely  ;  and  then  she  began  to  read  :  '  Histories  make  men 
wise ;  poets  witty  ;  mathematics  subtle  ;  natural  philosophy, 
deep,  moral,  grave  ;  logic  and  rhetoric,  able  to  contend.'  Now 
that's  what  I  want,  papa.  I  want  to  know  all  that,  and  have  a 
good  time  ;  and  I  expect  I  shall  have  to  contend  to  get  it  !  " 

"You'll  soon  learn  how,"  said  Diavolo  encouragingly. 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  had  always  enjoyed  his  children's  pre 
cocity,  and,  provided  they  amused  him,  they  could  make  him 
do  anything.  So  after  the  conference  he  announced  that  he 
had  been  questioning  Angelica,  and  had  found  that  she  really 
was  too  far  advanced  for  a  governess,  and  he  had  therefore 
decided  that  she  should  share  Diavolo's  lessons  with  the  tutor. 
The  governess  accordingly  disappeared  from  Hamilton  House, 
the  first  tutor  found  that  he  had  no  vocation  for  teaching,  and 
left  also,  and  another  was  procured  with  great  difficulty,  and 
at  considerable  expense,  for  the  fame  of  the  Heavenly  Twins 
was  wide-spread,  and  their  parents  were  determined  besides 
not  to  let  any  candidate  engage  himself  under  the  pleasing 
delusion  that  the  task  of  teaching  them  would  be  something  of 
a  sinecure. 

The  tutor  they  finally  secured  turned  out  to  be  a  very  good 
fellow,  fortunately  ;  a  gentleman,  and  with  a  keen  sense  of 
humour  which  the  twins  appreciated,  so  that  they  took  to  him 
at  once,  and  treated  him  pretty  well  on  the  whole  ;  but  lessons 
were  usually  a  lively  time.  Angelica,  who  continued  to  be  the 
taller,  stronger,  and  wickeder  of  the  two,  soon  proved  herseif 
the  cleverer  also.  Like  Evadne,  she  was  consumed  by  the 
rage  to  know,  and  insisted  upon  dragging  Diavolo  on  with  her. 
It  was  interesting  to  see  them  sitting  side  by  side,  the  dark 
head  touching  the  fair  one  as  they  bent  together  intently  over 
some  problem.  When  Diavolo  was  not  quick  enough,  Angelica 
would  rouse  him  up  in  the  old  way  by  knocking  her  head, 
which  was  still  the  harder  of  the  two,  against  his. 

"  Angelica,  did  I  see  you  strike  your  brother  ?  "  Mr.  Ellis 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  t2? 

sternly  demanded,  the  first  time  he  witnessed  this  perform 
ance. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  saw  me  or  not,  sir,  but  I  cer 
tainly  did  strike  him,"  Angelica  answered  irritably. 

"  Why  ? " 

"  To  wake  him  up." 

"  You  see,  sir,"  Diavolo  proceeded  to  explain  in  his  imper 
turbable  drawl  ;  "  Angelica  discovered  that  I  was  born  with  a 
hee-red-it-air-ee  predisposition  to  be  a  muff.  We  mostly  are 
on  father's  side  of  the  family " 

"  And  if  he  isn't  one,  it's  because  I  slapped  the  tendency 
out  of  him  as  soon  as  I  perceived  it,"  Angelica  interrupted. 
"  Get  on,  Diavolo,  I've  no  patience  with  you  when  you're  so 
slow.  You  know  you  don't  want  to  learn  this,  and  that's  why 
you're  snailing." 

It  was  rather  a  trick  of  Diavolo's  "  to  snail  "  over  his  lessons, 
for  in  that  as  in  many  other  things  he  was  very  unlike  the  good 
little  boy  who  loved  his  book,  besides  evincing  many  other 
traits  of  character  equally  unpopular  at  the  present  time. 
Diavolo  would  not  work  unless  Angelica  made  him,  and  the 
worst  collision  with  the  tutor  was  upon  this  subject. 

"  Wake  up,  Theodore,  will  you  !  "  Mr.  Ellis  said,  during  the 
first  week  of  their  studies. 

"  Not  until  you  call  me  Diavolo,"  was  the  bland  response. 

Mr.  Ellis  resisted  for  some  time,  but  Diavolo  was  firm  and 
would  do  nothing,  and  Lady  Adeline  cautioned  the  tutor  to 
give  in  if  he  saw  an  opportunity  of  doing  so  with  dignity. 

"  But  the  young  scamp  will  be  jeeringly  triumphant  if  I  do," 
Mr.  Ellis  objected. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Lady  Adeline  answered.  "  Diavolo  prides  him 
self  upon  being  a  gentleman,  and  he  says  a  gentleman  never 
jeers  or  makes  himself  unpleasant.  His  ideas  on  the  latter 
point,  by  the  way,  are  peculiarly  his  own,  and  you  will  proba 
bly  differ  from  him  as  to  what  is  or  is  not  unpleasant." 

Mr.  Ellis  made  a  point  of  calling  the  boy  "Diavolo"  in  a 
casual  way,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  the  dispute,  as  early  as  pos 
sible  after  this,  and  found  that  Lady  Adeline  was  right.  Dia 
volo  showed  not  the  slightest  sign  of  having  heard,  but  he  got 
out  his  books  at  once,  and  did  his  lessons  as  if  he  liked  them. 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  had  a  habit  of  always  saying  a  little 
more  than  was  necessary  on  some  subjects.  He  was  either  a 
born  naturalist  or  had  never  conquered  the  problem  of  what 
not  to  say,  and  he  was  so  incautious  as  to  come  into  the  school- 


I2&  THE  HEAVENLY 

room  one  morning  while  lessons  were  going  on,  and  warn  Mr. 
Ellis  to  be  most  careful  about  what  he  gave  the  twins  to  read 
in  Latin,  because  some  of  the  classic  delicacies  which  boys  are 
expected  to  swallow  without  injury  to  themselves  are  much  too 
highly  seasoned  for  a  young  lady  :  "  You  must  make  judicious 
excerpts,"  he  said. 

Slap  came  the  dictionary  down  upon  the  table,  and  Angelica 
was  deep  in  the  "  ex's  "  in  a  moment.  Excerpt,  she  found, 
was  to  pick  or  take  out.  She  passed  the  dictionary  to  Diavolo, 
who  studied  the  definition  ;  but  neither  of  them  made  a 
remark.  From  that  day  forth,  however,  they  spent  every 
spare  moment  they  had  in  poring  over  Latin  text-books,  until 
they  mastered  the  language,  simply  for  the  purpose  of  finding 
out  what  it  was  that  Angelica  ought  not  to  know. 

There  were,  as  has  already  been  stated,  some  lively  scenes  at 
lessons. 

"  Talk  less  and  do  more,"  Mr.  Ellis  rashly  recommended  in 
the  early  days  of  their  acquaintance,  and  after  that,  when  they 
disagreed,  they  claimed  that  they  had  his  anthority  to  settle 
the  difference  by  tearing  each  other's  hair  or  scratching  each 
other  across  the  table  ;  and  when  he  interfered,  sometimes 
they  scratched  him  too.  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  raised  his  salary 
eventually. 

The  children  invariably  had  a  discussion  about  everything 
as  soon  as  it  was  over.  They  called  it ."  talking  it  out  "  ;  and 
after  they  had  sinned  and  suffered  punishment,  their  great 
delight  was  to  come  and  coax  the  tutor  "  to  talk  it  out."  They 
would  then  criticize  their  own  conduct  and  his,  impartially, 
point  out  what  they  might  have  done,  and  what  he  might  have 
done,  and  what  ought  to  have  been  done  on  both  sides. 

These  discussions  usually  took  place  at  the  schoolroom  tea, 
a  meal  which  both  tutor  and  children  as  a  rule  thoroughly 
enjoyed.  Mr.  Ellis  was  not  bound  to  have  tea  with  the  twins, 
but  they  had  politely  invited  him  on  the  day  of  his  arrival, 
explaining  that  their  parents  were  out,  and  it  would  give  them 
great  pleasure  to  entertain  him. 

Tea  being  ready,  they  took  him  to  the  schoolroom,  where 
he  found  a  square  table,  just  large  enough  for  four,  daintily 
decorated  with  flowers,  and  very  nice  china. 

"  We  have  to  buy  our  own  china,  because  we  break  so 
much,"  Angelica  said,  seeing  that  the  tutor  noticed  it.  "  That 
was  the  kind  of  thing  papa  got  for  us  " — indicating  a  hugely 
thick  white  cup  and  saucer,  which  stood  on  the  mantelpiece 


TWINS.  t2$ 

on  a  stand  of  royal  blue  plush,  and  covered  with  a  glass 
shade. 

"  We  broke  the  others,  but  we  had  that  one  mounted  as  a 
warning  to  him.  Papa  has  no  taste  at  all." 

The  tutor's  face  was  a  study.  It  was  the  first  of  these 
remarks  he  had  heard. 

The  children  decided  that  it  would  balance  the  table  better 
if  he  poured  out  the  tea,  and  he  good-naturedly  acquiesced, 
and  sat  down  with  Angelica  on  his  right,  and  Diavalo  on  his 
left.  The  fourth  seat  opposite  was  unoccupied,  but  there  was 
a  cover  laid,  and  he  asked  who  was  expected. 

"  Oh,  that  is  for  the  Peace  Angel,"  said  Diavolo  casually. 

"  Prevents  difficulties  at  tea,  you  know,"  Angelica  supple 
mented.  "  We  don't  mind  difficulties,  but  we  thought  you 
might  object,  so  we  asked  his  holiness  " — indicating  the  empty 
chair — "  to  preserve  order." 

Mr.  Ellis  did  not  at  first  appreciate  the  boon  which  was 
conferred  on  him  by  the  presence  of  the  Peace  Angel,  but  he 
soon  learnt  to. 

"  I  am  on  my  honour  and  thick  bread  and  butter  to-day," 
said  Diavolo,  looking  longingly  at  the  plentiful  supply  and 
variety  of  cakes  on  the  table. 

"  What  does  that  mean  exactly  ?  "  Mr.  Ellis  asked,  pausing 
with  the  teapot  raised  to  pour. 

"Why,  you  see,  he  was  naughty  this  morning,"  Angelica 
explained.  "  And  as  mamma  was  going  out,  she  put  him  on 
his  honour,  as  a  punishment,  not  to  eat  cake." 

"  I've  a  good  mind  not  to  eat  anything,"  said  Diavolo,  con 
sidering  the  plate  of  thick  bread  and  butter  beside  him  dis 
contentedly. 

**  Then  you'll  be  cutting  off  your  nose  to  vex  your  face," 
said  Angelica. 

Diavolo  caught  up  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter  to  throw  at 
her  ;  but  she  held  up  her  hand,  crying  :  "  I  appeal  to  the 
Peace  Angel  !  " 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Diavolo,  transferring  the  bread  to  his  plate. 

The  children  studied  the  tutor  during  tea. 

He  was  a  man  of  thirty,  somewhat  careworn  about  the  eyes, 
but  with  an  excessively  kind  and  pleasant  face,  clean  shaven  ; 
and  thick,  reddy-brown  hair.  He  was  above  the  middle 
height,  a  little  stooped  at  the  shoulders,  but  of  average 
strength. 

"  I  like  the  look  of  you,"  said  Angelica  frankly. 


130  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered,  smHing. 

"  And  I  vote  for  a  permanent  arrangement,"  she  said,  look 
ing  at  Diavolo. 

He  was  just  then  hidden  behind  a  huge  slice  of  bread, 
biting  it,  but  he  nodded  intelligently. 

The  permanent  arrangement  referred  to  was  to  have  the 
tutor  to  tea,  and  he  agreed,  wisely  stipulating,  however,  that 
the  presence  of  the  Peace  Angel  should  also  be  permanent. 
He  even  tried  to  persuade  the  twins  to  invite  him  to  lessons  ; 
but  that  they  firmly  declined. 

"  You'll  like  being  our  tutor,  I  think,"  Diavolo  observed 
during  this  first  tea. 

"  He  will  if  we  like  him,"  said  Angelica  significantly. 

"Are  we  going  to  ?"  Diavolo  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  she  answered,  taking  another  good  look 
at  Mr.  Ellis.  "  I  like  the  look  of  that  red  in  his  hair." 

"  Now,  isn't  that  a  woman's  reason  ?  "  Diavolo  exclaimed, 
appealing  to  Mr.  Ellis. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  Angelica,  preparing  to  defend  it  by  shuf 
fling  a  note-book  out  of  her  pocket,  and  ruffling  the  leaves 
over  :  "  Listen  to  this  " — and  she  read — "  '  A  tinge  of  red  in 
the  hair  denotes  strength  and  energy  of  character  and  good 
staying  power.'  We  don't  want  a  muff  for  a  tutor,  do  we  ? 
There  are  born  muffs  enough  in  the  family  without  importing 
them.  And  a  woman's  reason  is  always  a  good  one,  as  men 
might  see  if  they'd  only  stop  chattering  and  listen  to  it." 

"  It  mayn't  be  well  expressed,  but  it  will  bear  examination," 
Mr.  Ellis  suggested. 

"  Do  you  like  being  a  tutor  ? "  Diavolo. 

"  It  depends  on  whom  I  have  to  teach." 

"  If  you're  a  good  fellow,  you'll  have  a  nice  time  here — on 
the  whole — I  hope,  sir,"  Angelica  observed.  "  But  why  are 
you  a  tutor  ?  " 

"  To  earn  my  living,"  Mr.  Ellis  answered,  smiling  again. 

The  children  remembered  this,  and  when  they  were  having 
tea  under  the  shadow  of  the  supposititious  Peace  Angel's  wing, 
after  the  first  occasion  on  which,  when  the  tutor  tried  to 
separate  them  during  a  fight  at  lessons,  they  had  turned  simul 
taneously  and  attacked  him,  they  made  it  the  text  of  some 
recommendations.  He  expressed  a  strong  objection  to  having 
manual  labour  imposed  upon  him  as  well  as  his  other  work  ; 
but  they  maintained  that  if  only  he  had  called  the  affray  "  a 
struggle  for  daily  bread  "  or  "  a  fight  for  a  livelihood,"  he 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  13 * 

would  quite  have  enjoyed  it ;  and  they  further  suggested  that 
such  diversion  must  be  much  more  interesting  than  being  a 
mere  commonplace  tutor  who  only  taught  lessons.  They 
could  not  understand  why  a  fight  was  not  as  much  fun  for  him 
as  for  them,  and  thought  him  unreasonable  when  they  found 
he  was  not  to  be  persuaded  to  countenance  that  way  of  vary 
ing  the  monotony.  Not  that  there  was  ever  much  monotony  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  Heavenly  Twins  ;  they  managed  to 
introduce  variety  into  everything,  and  their  quickness  of 
action,  when  both  were  roused,  was  phenomenal.  One  day 
while  at  work  they  saw  a  sparrow  pick  up  a  piece  of  bread, 
take  it  to  the  roof-tree  of  an  angle  of  the  house  visible  from 
the  schoolroom  window,  drop  it,  and  chase  it  as  it  fell  ;  and 
the  twins  had  made  a  bet  as  to  which  would  beat,  bird  or 
bread,  quarrelled  because  they  could  not  agree  as  to  which 
had  bet  on  bird  and  which  on  bread,  and  boxed  each  other's 
ears  almost  before  the  race  was  over. 

Mr.  Ellis,  although  continually  upon  his  guard,  was  not  by 
any  means  always  a  match  for  them.  Over  and  over  again  he 
found  that  his  caution  had  been  fanned  to  sleep  by  flattering 
attentions,  while  traps  were  being  laid  for  him  with  the  most 
innocent  air  in  the  world,  as  on  one  occasion  when  Diavolo 
betrayed  him  into  a  dissertation  on  the  consistency  of  the 
Scriptures,  and  Angelica  asked  him  to  kindly  show  her  how 
to  reconcile  Prov.  viii.  2  :  "  For  wisdom  is  better  than  rubies; 
and  all  the  things  that  may  be  desired  are  not  be  compared 
to  it,"  with  Eccles.  i.  18  :  "  For  in  much  wisdom  is  much 
grief  ;  and  he  that  increaseth  knowledge  increaseth  sorrow." 

His  way  with  them  was  admirable,  however,  and  he  com 
pletely  won  their  hearts.  The  thing  that  they  respected  him 
for  most  was  the  fact  that  he  took  in  Punch  on  his  own 
account,  and  could  show  you  a  lot  of  things  in  it  that  you 
could  never  have  discovered  yourself,  as  Angelica  said,  and 
read  bits  in  a  way  that  made  them  seem  ever  so  much  funnier 
than  when_y0#  read  them  ;  and  could  tell  you  who  drew  the 
pictures  the  moment  he  looked  at  them — so  that  "Punch  Day  " 
came  to  be  looked  forward  to  by  the  children  as  one  of  the 
pleasantest  events  of  the  week.  Lessons  were  suspended  the 
moment  the  paper  arrived,  if  they  had  been  good  ;  but  when 
they  were  naughty  Mr.  Ellis  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket,  and 
that  was  the  greatest  punishment  he  could  inflict  upon  them — 
the  only  one  that  ever  made  them  sulk.  They  would  be  good 
for  hours  in  advance  to  earn  the  right  of  having  Punch  shown 


132  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

to  them  the  moment  it  came.  And  it  was  certainly  by  means 
of  his  intelligent  interpretation  of  it  that  their  tutor  managed 
to  cultivate  their  tastes  in  many  ways,  and  give  them  true  ideas 
of  art,  and  the  importance  of  art,  at  the  outset,  and  also  of 
ethics.  He  was  as  careful  of  Angelica's  physical  as  of  her 
mental  education,  being  himself  strongly  imbued  by  the  then 
new  idea  that  a  woman  should  have  the  full  use  of  her  limbs, 
lungs,  heart,  and  every  other  organ  and  muscle,  so  that  life 
might  be  a  pleasure  to  her  and  not  a  continual  exertion.  He 
had  a  strong  objection  to  the  artificial  waist,  and  impressed 
the  beauty  of  Tenniel's  classical  purity  of  figure  upon  the 
children  by  teaching  them  to  appreciate  the  contrast  it  pre 
sents  to  the  bulging  vulgarities  made  manifest  by  Keene  ;  and 
showed  them  also  that  while  Du  Maurier  depicted  with  admir 
able  artistic  interpretation  the  refined  surroundings  and  atten 
uated  forms  of  women  as  they  are,  Linley  Sambourne,  that 
master  of  lovely  line,  pointed  the  moral  by  drawing  women  as 
they  should  be.  There  was  nothing  conventional  about  the 
Heavenly  Twins,  and  it  was  therefore  easy  to  make  a  good 
impression  upon  them  in  this  direction,  and  the  tutor  soon  had 
a  practical  proof  of  his  success  which  must  have  been  emi 
nently  satisfactory  if  a  trifle  embarrassing. 

The  children  were  out  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  one 
afternoon  when  a  lady  arrived  to  call  upon  their  mother. 
They  were  struck  by  her  appearance  as  she  descended  from 
her  carriage,  and  followed  her  into  the  drawing  room  to  have 
a  good  look  at  her.  She  was  one  of  those  heroic  women  who 
have  the  constancy  to  squeeze  their  figures  in  beyond  the  V 
shape,  which  is  the  commonest  deformity,  to  that  of  the  hour 
glass  which  bulges  out  more  above  and  below  the  line  of 
compression. 

There  were  a  good  many  other  people  in  the  room,  whom 
the  Heavenly  Twins  saluted  politely  ;  and  then  they  sat  down 
opposite  to  the  object  of  their  interest  and  gazed  at  her. 

"  Why  are  you  tied  so  tight  in  the  middle  ?  "  Angelica  asked 
at  last  in  a  voice  that  silenced  everybody  else  in  the  room. 
"  Doesn't  it  hurt?  I  mean  to  have  a  good  figure  when  I  grow 
up,  like  the  Venus  de  Medici,  you  know.  I  can  show  you  a 
picture  of  her,  if  you  like.  She  hasn't  a  stitch  on  her." 

"She  looks  awfully  nice,  though,"  said  Diavolo,  "and 
Angelica  thinks  she'd  be  able  to  eat  more  with  that  kind  of 
figure." 

"  Yes,"  Angelica  candidly  confessed,  looking  at  her  victim 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  133 

compassionately.  "  I  shouldn't  think,  now,  that  you  can  eat 
both  pudding  and  meat,  can  you  ? " 

"  Not  to  mention  dessert  !  "  Diavolo  ejaculated  with  genuine 
concern. 

"Mr.  Ellis,  will  you  get  those  children  out  of  the  room, 
somehow,"  Lady  Adeline  whispered  to  the  tutor,  who  had 
come  in  for  tea. 

"  Is  it  true,  do  you  think,"  Mr.  Ellis  began  loudly,  address 
ing  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  across  the  room — "  Is  it  true  that  Dr. 
Galbraith  is  going  to  try  some  horrihje  experiments  in  vivisec 
tion  this  afternoon?" 

"  What  is  vivisection  ?"  asked  Angelica,  diverted. 

"  Cutting  up  live  animals  to  find  out  what  makes  them  go," 
said  the  tutor. 

In  three  minutes  there  wasn't  a  vestige  of  the  Heavenly 
Twins  about  the  place. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

1AHE  twins  had  a  code  of  ethics  which  differed  in  some 
respects  from  that  ordinarily  accepted  in  their  state  of 
life.  They  honoured  their  mother — they  couldn't  help  it,  as 
they  said  themselves,  apologetically  ;  but  their  father  they 
looked  upon  as  fair  game  for  their  amusement. 

"  What  was  that  unearthly  noise  I  heard  this  morning  ?  " 
Mr.  Ellis  asked  one  day. 

"Oh,  did  we  wake  you,  sir?"  Diavolo  exclaimed.  "We 
didn't  mean  to.  We  were  only  yowling  papa  out  of  bed  with 
our  fiddles.  He's  idle  sometimes,  and  won't  get  up,  and  it's 
so  bad  for  him,  you  know." 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  him  scooting  down  the  corridor  after 
us,"  Angelica  observed.  "  And  do  you  know,  he  speaks  just 
the  same  at  that  time  of  day  in  his  dressing  gown,  as  he  does 
in  the  evening  in  dress  clothes.  You'd  die  if  you  heard 
him." 

Another  habit  of  the  twins  was  to  read  any  letters  they 
might  find  lying  about. 

"  It  is  dishonourable  to  read  other  people's  letters,"  Mr.  Ellis 
admonished  them  severely  when  he  became  aware  of  this 
peculiarity. 

"  It  isn't  for  us,"  Angelica  answered  defiantly.  "  You 
might  as  well  say  its  dishonourable  to  squint.  We've  always 


134  THE   HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

done  it,  and  everybody  knows  we  do  it.  We  warn  them  not 
to  leave  their  letters  lying  about,  don't  we,  Diavolo  ?  " 

"  That  is  because  it  is  greater  fun  to  hunt  for  them,"  Diavolo 
interpreted  precisely.  When  Angelica  gave  a  reason  he  usually 
cleared  it  of  all  obscurity  in  this  way. 

"  And  how  are  we  to  know  what  goes  on  in  the  family  if  we 
don't  read  the  letters  ? "  Angelica  demanded. 

"  What  necessity  is  there  for  you  to  know  ?  " 

"  Every  necessity  !  "  she  retorted.  "  Not  be  interested 
in  one  s  own  family  affairs  ?  Why,  we  should  we  wanting  in 
intelligence,  awd  we're  not  that,  you  know  !  And  we  should 
be  wanting  in  affection,  too,  and  every  right  feeling  ;  and  I 
hope  we  are  not  that  either,  Mr.  Ellis,  qtiite.  But  you 
needn't  be  afraid  about  your  own  letters.  We  shan't  touch 
them." 

"  No,"  drawled  Diavolo.  "  Of  course  that  would  be  a  very 
different  thing." 

"  I  am  glad  you  draw  the  line  somewhere,"  Mr.  Ellis 
observed  sarcastically.  He  was  far  from  satisfied,  however, 
but  he  noticed  eventually  that  the  dust  collected  on  letters  of 
his  own  if  he  left  them  lying  about,  and  he  soon  discovered 
that  when  his  intelligent  pupils  gave  their  word  they  kept  it 
uncompromisingly.  It  was  one  of  their  virtues,  and  the  other 
was  loyalty  to  each  other.  Their  devotion  to  their  mother 
hardly  counted  for  a  virtue,  because  they  never  carried  it  far 
enough  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  her  sake.  But  they  would 
have  sacrificed  their  very  lives  for  each  other,  and  would 
have  fought  for  the  right  to  die  until  there  was  very  little  left 
of  either  of  them  to  execute  ;  of  such  peculiar  quality  were 
their  affections. 

They  had  gone  straight  to  Fountain  Towers  by  the  shortest 
cut  across  the  fields  that  afternoon  when  Mr.  Ellis  suggested 
vivisection  as  a  possible  occupation  for  Dr.  Galbraith.  They 
never  doubted  but  that  they  should  discover  him  hard  at  work, 
in  some  underground  cellar  most  likely,  to  which  they  would 
be  guided  by  the  cries  of  his  victims,  and  would  be  able  to 
conquer  his  reluctance  to  allow  them  to  assist  at  his  experi 
ments,  by  threats  of  exposure  ;  and  they  were  considerably 
chagrined  when,  having  carefully  concealed  themselves  in  a 
thick  shrubbery,  in  order  to  reconnoitre  the  house,  they  came 
upon  him  in  the  garden,  innocently  occupied  in  the  idle  pur 
suit  of  pruning  rose  trees. 

He  was  somewhat  startled  himself  when  he  suddenly  saw 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  1 35 

their  hot  red  faces,  set  like  two  moons  in  a  clump  of  greenery, 
peeping  out  at  him  with  animated  eyes. 

"  Hollo  !  "  he  said.  "  Are  you  hungry  ?  "  The  faces  disap 
peared  behind  the  bushes. 

"  Are  we,  Angelica  ?"  Diavolo  whispered  anxiously. 

"  Of  course  we  are,"  she  retorted. 

"I  thought  we  were  too  angry — disgusted — disappointed — 
something"  he  murmured  apologetically,  but  evidently  much 
relieved. 

Dr.  Galbraith  went  on  with  his  pruning,  and  presently  the 
twins  appeared  walking  down  the  proper  approach  to  the  gar 
den  hand  in  hand  demurely. 

After  they  had  saluted  their  host  politely,  they  stood  and 
stared  at  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"I  suppose  we  are  too  late  ?"said  Angelica. 

"  For  what  ?  "  he  asked,  without  pausing  in  his  occupation. 

"For  the  viv-viv-vivinesectionining." 

"  Vivinesectionining  !  What  on  earth — Oh  !  "  Light  broke 
in  upon  him.  "  Who  told  you  I  was  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Ellis,"  said  Angelica. 

"  No,  he  didn't  tell  us  you  were  exactly,"  Diavolo  explained 
with  conscientious  accuracy.  "  He  asked  papa  if  it  was  true 
that  you  were  going  to  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  And  what  were  you  doing  ?  "  Dr.  Galbraith  asked  astutely. 

"  We  were  in  the  drawing  room,"  Angelica  answered, 
"  trying  to  find  out  from  a  lady  why  she  tied  herself  up  so 
tight  in  the  middle." 

"  And  so  you  came  off  here  to  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Diavolo.     "  We  wanted  to  catch  you  at  it." 

"You  little  brute,  misbegotten  by  the "  Dr.  Galbraith 

began,  but  Diavolo  interrupted  him. 

"  Sir  !  "  he  exclaimed,  drawing  himself  up  with  an  expres 
sion  of  as  much  indignation  as  could  be  got  into  his  small 
patrician  features.  "  If  you  do  not  instantly  withdraw  that  cal 
umny,  I  shall  have  to  fight  you  on  my  mother's  behalf,  and  I 
shall  consider  it  my  duty  to  inform  her  of  the  insinuation 
which  is  the  cause  of  offence." 

"  I  apologize,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
bowing  low.  "  I  assure  you  the  expression  was  used  as  a  mere 
fa$on  de  parler" 

"  I  accept  your  explanation,  sir,"  said  Diavolo,  returning  the 
salute.  "  But  I  caution  you  to  be  careful  for  the  future.  What 


I36  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

is  a  fafon  de  parler,  Angelica  ? "  he  whispered  as  he  put  his 
hat  on. 

"  Oh,  just  a  way  of  saying  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  talk  so  much.  Men  are  always  cackling  by  the 
hour  all  about  nothing.  If  people  come  to  see  me  when  / 
have  a  house  of  my  own,  I  shall  not  forget  the  rites  of  hos 
pitality." 

The  doctor  put  up  his  pruning  knife.  There  was  a  twinkle 
in  his  gray  eyes. 

"  If  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  come  this  way,"  he  said, 
"  my  slaves  will  prepare  a  small  collation  on  the  instant." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Diavolo.  "  Arabian  Nights,  you  know  !  You 
must  have  fresh  fruits  and  dried  fruits,  choice  wines,  cakes, 
sweets,  and  nuts. 

"  It  shall  be  done  as  my  lord  commands,"  said  the  doctor. 

That  same  evening,  when  he  took  the  children  home,  Dr. 
Galbraith  found  Lady  Adeline  alone.  She  was  a  plain  woman, 
but  well-bred  in  appearance  ;  and  tender  thoughts  had  carved 
a  sweet  expression  on  her  face. 

Next  to  her  brother  Dawne,  Dawne's  most  intimate  friend, 
Dr.  Galbraith,  was  the  man  in  the  world  upon  whom  she  placed 
the  greatest  reliance. 

"  I  have  brought  back  the  children,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  then  they  have  been  with  you  !  "  she  answered  in  a 
tone  of  relief.  "  We  hoped  they  were." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said  smiling.  "They  showed  me  exactly 
what  the  difficulty  here  had  been,  and  I  have  been  endeav 
ouring  to  win  back  their  esteem,  for  they  made  it  appear 
plainly  that  they  despised  me  when  they  found  me  peacefully 
pruning  rose  trees  instead  of  dismembering  live  rabbits,  as 
Mr.  Ellis  had  apparently  led  them  to  expect." 

"They  told  you,  then?" 

"  Oh,  exactly,  I  am  sure — about  the  lady  tied  too  tight  in 
the  middle,  and  everything." 

"They  are  terrible,  George,  those  children,"  Lady  Adeline 
declared.  "  My  whole  life  is  one  ache  of  anxiety  on  their 
account.  I  am  always  in  doubt  as  to  whether  their  unnatural 
acuteness  portends  vice  or  is  promising  ;  and  whether  we  are 
doing  all  that  ought  to  be  done  for  them." 

"  I  am  sure  they  are  in  very  good  hands  now,"  he  an 
swered  cheerfully.  "  Mr.  Ellis  is  an  exceedingly  good  fellow  ; 
they  like  him  too,  and  I  don't  think  anybody  could  manage 
them  better." 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  137 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Adeline  :  "  but  that  only  means  that  no 
one  can  manage  them  at  all.  They  are  everywhere.  They 
know  everything.  They  have  already  mastered  every  fact  in 
natural  history  that  can  be  learnt  upon  the  estate  ;  and  they 
will  do  almost  anything,  and  are  so  unscrupulous  that  I  fear 
sometimes  they  are  going  to  take  after  some  criminal  ancestor 
there  may  have  been  in  the  family,  although  I  never  heard  of 
one,  and  go  to  the  bad  altogether.  Now,  what  is  to  be  done 
with  such  children  ?  I  hardly  dare  allow  myself  to  hope  that 
they  have  good  qualities  enough  to  save  them,  and  yet — and 
yet  they  are  lovable,"  she  added,  looking  at  him  wistfully. 

"  Most  lovable,  and  I  am  sure  you  need  not  disturb  yourself 
seriously,"  he  answered  with  confidence.  "  The  children  have 
vivid  imaginations- and  incomparable  courage  ;  and  their  love 
of  mischief  comes  from  exuberance  of  spirits  only,  I  am  sure. 
When  Angelica's  womanly  instincts  develop,  and  she  has  seen 
something  of  the  serious  side  of  life — been  made  to  fee!  it,  I 
mean — she  will  become  a  very  different  person,  or  I  am  much 
mistaken.  Her  character  promises  to  be  as  fine,  when  it  is 
formed,  as  it  will  certainly  be  unusual.  And  as  for  Diavolo — 
well,  I  have  seen  no  sign  of  any  positive  vice  in  either  of 
them." 

"You  comfort  me,"  said  Lady  Adeline.  "How  did  you 
entertain  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  had  great  fun!"  he  replied,  laughing.  "We  had 
an  impromptu  Arabian  Night's  entertainment  with  all  the  men 
and  women  about  the  place  disguised  as  slaves  ;  and  they  all 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  heartily.  I  assure  you,  I 
never  enjoyed  anything  more  in  my  life.  But  I  must  go.  I  am 
on  my  way  to  town  to-night  to  read  a  paper  to-morrow  morn- 
ing  upon  a  most  interesting  case  of  retarded  brain  develop 
ment,  which  I  have  been  studying  for  the  last  year.  If  I 
am  right  in  my  conclusions,  we  are  upon  the  high  road  to 
some  extraordinary  and  most  valuable  discoveries." 

"  Now,  that  is  a  singular  man,"  Lady  Adeline  remarked  to 
Mr.  Ellis  afterward.  She  had  been  telling  the  tutor  about 
the  success  of  his  stratagem.  "  He  spent  valuable  hours 
to-day  playing  with  my  children,  and  he  says  he  never  enjoyed 
anything  so  much  in  his  life,  and  I  quite  believe  him  ;  and 
to-morrow  he  will  probably  astonish  the  scientific  world  with  a 
discovery  of  the  last  importance." 

"  I  call  him  a  human  being,  perfectly  possessed  of  all  his 
faculties,"  Mr.  Ellis  answered. 


I38  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S. 

The  twins  worked  well  by  fits  and  starts  ;  but  when  they 
did  not  chose  to  be  diligent,  they  considerately  gave  their 
tutor  a  holiday.  The  last  threat  of  a  thrashing  for  Diavolo 
happened  to  be  on  the  first  of  these  occasions. 

"  It  looks  a  good  morning  for  fishing,"  he  remarked  casually 
to  Angelica,  just  after  they  had  settled  down  to  lessons. 

"Yes,  it  does,"  she  answered. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause,  and  then  away  went  their 
books,  and  they  were  off  out  of  the  window. 

But  Mr.  Ellis  succeeded  in  capturing  them,  and,  laying  hold 
of  an  arm  of  each,  he  dragged  them  before  the  paternal  tri 
bunal  in  the  library.  He  was  not  intimate  with  the  peculiar 
relations  of  the  household  to  each  other  at  that  particular 
time,  and  he  thought  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  would  prefer  to 
order  the  punishment  himself  for  so  serious  an  offence.  An 
gelica  shook  her  hair  over  her  face,  and  made  sufficient  feint 
of  resistance  to  tumble  her  frock  on  the  way,  while  Diavolo 
pretended  to  be  terror-stricken  ;  but  this  was  only  to  please 
Mr.  Ellis  with  the  delusion  that  fear  of  their  father  gave  him 
a  moral  hold  over  them,  for  the  moment  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells 
frowned  upon  them  they  straightened  themselves  and  beamed 
about  blandly. 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  ordered  Diavolo  to  be  thrashed,  and 
Diavolo  dashed  off  for  the  cane  and  handed  it  to  his  tutor 
politely,  saying  at  the  same  time  :  "  Do  be  quick,  Mr.  Ellis,  I 
want  to  get  out." 

"  You  wouldn't  dare  to  thrash  him  if  he  were  big  enough  to 
thrash  you  back,"  Angelica  shrieked,  waltzing  round  like  a 
tornado;  "and  it  isn't  fair  to  thrash  him  and  not  me,  for  I  am 
much  worse  than  he  is.  You  know  I  am,  papa  !  and  I  shall 
hate  you  if  Diavolo  is  thrashed,  and  teach  him  how  to  make 
your  life  a  burden  to  you  for  a  month,  I  shall " — stamping  her 
foot. 

It  always  made  her  blood  boil  if  there  were  any  question  of 
corporal  punishment  for  Diavolo.  She  could  have  endured  it 
herself  without  a  murmur,  but  she  had  a  feminine  objection  to 
knowing  that  it  was  being  inflicted,  especially  as  she  was  not 
allowed  to  be  present. 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot,  Angelica,"  Diavolo  drawled.  "  I  would 
rather  be  thrashed,  and  have  done  with  it.  It  does  fellows 
good  to  be  thrashed;  makes  them  manly,  they  say  in  the  books. 
And  it  hurts  a  jolly  sight  less  than  being  scratched  by  you,  if 
that  is  any  comfort." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  139 

"  Oh,  you  are  mean  !  "  Angelica  exclaimed.  "  Wait  till  we 
get  outside  !  " 

"  I  think,  sir,"  Mr.  Ellis  ventured  to  suggest  in  answer  to 
an  appealing  glance  from  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells,  and  looking 
dubiously  at  the  cane — "  I  think,  since  Diavolo  doesn't  care  a 
rap  about  being  flogged,  I  had  better  devise  a  form  of  punish 
ment  for  which  he  will  care." 

"  Then  come  along,  Diavolo,"  Angelica  exclaimed,  making 
a  dash  for  the  door.  "  They  won't  want  us  while  they're  de 
vising." 

Mr.  Ellis  would  have  followed  them,  but  Mr.  Hamilton- 
Wells  gently  restrained  him.  "  It  is  no  use,  Mr.  Ellis,"  he 
said,  sighing  deeply.  "  I  would  recommend  you  to  keep  up  a 
show  of  disapproval  for  form's  sake,  but  I  beg  that  you  will 
not  give  yourself  any  unnecessary  trouble.  They  are  quite 
incorrigible." 

"  I  hope  not,"  the  tutor  answered. 

"  Well,  I  leave  them  to  you,  make  what  you  can  of  them  !  " 
their  father  rejoined.  "  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  responsibility 
while  you  are  here." 

The  Heavenly  Twins  got  their  day's  sport  on  that  occasion, 
and  returned  with  a  basket  full  of  trout  for  tea,  fishy  them 
selves,  and  tired,  but  bland  and  conciliatory.  They  dressed 
for  the  evening  carefully,  and  without  coercion,  which  was 
always  a  sign  of  repentance;  and  then  they  went  down  to  the 
schoolroom,  where  they  found  Mr.  Ellis  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  fireplace,  reading  a  newspaper.  He  looked  at 
them  each  in  turn  as  they  entered,  and  they  looked  at  him, 
but  he  made  no  remark. 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  us  a  good  scolding  at  once,  and 
have  done  with  it,"  Angelica  observed. 

He  made  no  sign  of  having  heard,  however,  but  quietly 
turned  the  paper  over,  chose  a  fresh  item  of  information,  and 
began  to  read  it.  Angelica  sat  down  in  her  place  at  table, 
leant  back  with  her  short  frock  up  to  her  knees  and  her  long 
legs  tucked  under  her  chair,  and  reflected.  Diavolo  did  the 
same,  yawning  aggressively. 

"  I'd  sell  my  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage  with  pleasure 
this  minute,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  What  was  pottage,  Mr.  Ellis  ? "  Angelica  asked  insin 
uatingly. 

"  You  don't  suppose  the  recipe  has  been  handed  down  in  the 
Ellis  family,  do  you?  "  said  Diavolo. 


HO  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Angelica  looked  round  for  a  missile  to  hurl  at  him,  but  there 
being  nothing  handy,  she  tried  the  effect  of  a  withering  glance, 
to  which  he  responded  by  making  a  face  at  her.  A  storm  was 
evidently  brewing,  but  fortunately  just  at  that  moment  the  tea 
arrived,  and  caused  a  diversion  which  prevented  further 
demonstrations.  Happily  for  those  in  charge  of  the  twins, 
their  outbursts  of  feeling  were  all  squalls  which  subsided  as 
suddenly  as  those  of  the  innocent  babe  which  howls  every 
body  in  the  house  out  of  bed  for  his  bottle,  and  is  beyond  all 
comfort  till  he  gets  it,  when  his  anger  instantly  goes  out,  and 
only  a  few  gurgling  "  Oh's  "  of  intense  satisfaction  mark  the 
point  from  which  the  racket  proceeded. 

For  a  week  Mr.  Ellis  maintained  an  attitude  of  dignified 
reserve  with  the  twins,  and  their  sociable  souls  were  much 
exercised  to  devise  a  means  to  break  down  the  barrier  of  cold 
ness  which  they  found  between  themselves  and  their  tutor. 
They  tried  everything  they  could  think  of  to  beguile  him  back 
to  the  old  friendly  footing,  and  it  was  only  after  aL  other 
means  had  failed  that  they  thought  at  last  of  apologising  for 
their  unruly  conduct.  It  was  the  first  time  that  they  had  ever 
done  such  a  thing  in  their  lives  spontaneously,  and  they  were 
so  proud  of  it  that  they  went  and  told  everybody  they  knew. 

Mr.  Ellis,  having  graciously  accepted  the  apology,  found 
himself  expected  to  discuss  the  whole  subject  at  tea  that 
evening. 

"  Of  course,  we  were  quite  in  the  wrong,'*  said  Angelica, 
taking  advantage  of  the  Peace  Angel's  presence  to  sum  up 
comprehensively  ;  "but  you  must  acknowledge  that  we  were 
not  altogether  to  blame,  for  you  really  have  not  been  mak 
ing  our  lessons  sufficiently  interesting  to  rivet  our  attention 
lately." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  diligent  Diavolo.  "  My  attention 
has  not  been  riveted  for  weeks." 

After  the  twins  had  made  their  memorable  apology,  they 
were  so  impressed  by  the  importance  of  the  event  that  they 
determined  to  celebrate  it  in  some  special  way.  They  wanted 
to  do  something  really  worthy  of  the  occasion. 

"  We'll  do  some  good  to  somebody,  shall  we?  "said  An 
gelica. 

"  Not  unless  there's  some  fun  in  it,"  said  Diavolo. 

"Well,  who  proposed  to  do  anything  without  fun  in  it?" 
Angelica  wanted  to  know.  "  You've  no  sense  at  all,  Diavolo. 
When  people  get  up  fancy  fairs  and  charity  balls,  do  they 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  141 

pretend  to  be  doing  it  for  fun  ?  No  !  They  say, '  Oh,  my 
dear,  I  am  so  busy,  I  hardly  know  what  to  do  first;  but  what 
keeps  me  up  is  the  object !  the  good  object ! '  Arid  then 
they're  enjoying  it  as  hard  as  they  can  all  the  time.  And  that's 
what  we'll  do.  We'll  give  the  school  children  a  treat." 

The  twins  were  allowed  an  hour  to  riot  about  the  place 
after  their  early  dinner,  and  then  a  bell  was  rung  to  summon 
them  in  to  lessons,  but  on  that  particular  day  Mr.  Ellis  waited 
in  vain  for  them.  Angelica  had  concealed  her  riding  habit  in 
a  loft,  and  as  soon  as  they  got  out  they  ran  to  the  stables, 
which  were  just  then  deserted,  the  men  being  at  their  dinner; 
and  Angelica  changed  her  dress  while  Diavolo  got  out  their 
ponies  and  saddled  them,  and  having  carefully  stolen  through 
a  thick  plantation  on  to  the  high  road,  they  scampered  off  to 
Morningquest  as  hard  as  their  lively  little  steeds  could  carry 
them. 

They  were  well  known  in  Morningquest,  and  many  an 
admiring  as  well  as  inquiring  glance  followed  them  as  they 
cantered  close  together  side  by  side  through  the  quaint  old 
streets.  The  people  were  wondering  what  on  earth  they  were 
up  to. 

"  Everybody  looks  so  pleased  to  see  us,"  said  Diavolo, 
smiling  genially;  "  I  think  we  ought  to  come  oftener." 

"  We  will,"  said  Angelica. 

They  pulled  up  at  the  principal  confectioner's  in  the  place, 
and  bought  as  many  pounds  of  sweets  as  they  could  carry, 
desiring  the  proprietor  in  a  lordly  way  to  send  the  bill  to 
Hamilton  House  at  his  earliest  convenience;  and  then  they 
rode  off  to  the  largest  day  school  in  the  city,  stationed  them 
selves  on  either  side  of  a  narrow  gateway  through  which  both 
girls  and  boys  had  to  pass  to  get  in,  and  pelted  the  children 
with  sweets  as  they  returned  from  their  midday  dinners;  and 
as  they  had  chosen  sugar  almonds,  birds'  eggs,  and  other 
varieties  of  a  hard  and  heavy  nature,  which,  although  inter 
esting  in  the  mouth  of  a  child,  are  inconvenient  when  received 
in  its  eyes,  and  cause  irritation,  which  is  apt  to  be  resented, 
when  pelted  at  the  back  of  its  head,  the  scene  in  a  few 
minutes  was  extremely  animated.  This  was  what  the  Heav 
enly  Twins  called  giving  the  school  children  a  treat,  and 
they  told  Mr.  Ellis  afterward  that  they  enjoyed  doing  good 
very  much. 

"What  shall  we  do  now  ?  "  said  Diavolo  as  they  walked  their 
ponies  aimlessly  down  the  street  when  that  episode  was  over. 


142  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  Let's  call  on  grandpapa  and  the  bishop,"  Angelica  sug 
gested. 

"  The  bishop  first,  then,"  said  Diavolo.  "  They've  such 
good  cakes  at  the  palace." 

"  Well,  that's  just  why  we  should  do  grandpapa  first,"  said 
Angelica.  "  Don't  you  see  ?  We  can  have  cake  at  Morne  ; 
and  we  shall  be  able  to  eat  the  ones  at  the  palace  too,  if  they're 
better." 

**  Yes,"  said  Diavolo,  with  grave  precision.  "  I  notice  my 
self,  that,  however  much  I  have  had,  I  can  always  eat  a  little 
more  of  something  better." 

"  That's  what  they  mean  by  tempting  the  appetite,"  observed 
Angelica  sagely. 

When  the  children  arrived  at  the  castle,  it  occurred  to  them 
that  it  would  be  a  very  good  idea  to  ride  right  in  and  go  up 
stairs  on  their  ponies  ;  but  they  only  succeeded  in  mounting 
the  broad  steps  and  entering  the  hall,  where  they  were  captured 
by  the  footmen  and  respectfully  persuaded  to  alight.  They 
announced  that  they  had  come  to  call  on  the  Duke  of  Morning- 
quest,  and  were  conducted  to  his  presence  with  pomp  and 
ceremony  enough  to  have  embarrassed  any  other  equally 
dusty  dishevelled  mortals,  but  the  twins  were  not  troubled 
with  self-consciousness,  and  entered  with  perfect  confidence. 
The  duke  was  delighted.  If  there  was  one  thing  which  could 
give  him  more  pleasure  than  another  in  his  old  age,  it  was  the 
wicked  ways  of  the  Heavenly  Twins,  and  especially  of  the 
promising  Angelica,  who  very  much  resembled  him  both  in 
appearance,  decision  of  character,  and  sharpness  of  temper. 
She  promised,  however,  to  be  on  a  much  larger  scale,  for  the 
duke  was  diminutive.  He  looked  like  one  who  stands  in  a 
picture  at  the  end  of  a  long  line  of  ancestors,  considerably 
reduced  by  the  perspective,  and  it  was  as  if  in  his  person  an 
attempt  had  been  made  to  breed  the  race  down  to  the  vanish 
ing  point.  His  high-arched  feet  were  admired  as  models  of 
size  and  shape,  and  so  also  were  his  slender  delicate  hands  ; 
but  neither  were  agreeable  to  an  educated  eye  and  an  intelli 
gence  indifferent  to  the  dignity  of  dukes,  but  nice  in  the  matter 
of  proportion. 

The  children  found  their  grandfather  in  the  oriel  room,  so 
called  because  of  the  great  oriel  window,  which  was  a  small 
room  in  itself,  although  it  looked,  as  you  approached  the  castle, 
no  bigger  than  a  swallow's  nest  on  the  face  of  the  solid  masonry, 
being  the  only  excrescence  visible  above  the  trees  from  that 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS,  143 

point  of  view.  The  castle  stood  on  a  hill  which  descended 
precipitously  from  under  the  oriel,  so  that  the  latter  almost 
overhung  the  valley  in  which  the  city  lay  below,  and  com 
manded  a  magnificent  view  of  the  flat  country  beyond,  thrid- 
ded  by  a  shining  winding  ribbon  of  river.  The  hill  was 
wooded  on  that  side  to  the  top,  and  the  castle  crowned 
it,  rising  above  the  trees  in  irregular  outline  against  the  sky 
imposingly.  The  old  duke  sat  in  the  oriel  often,  looking  down 
at  the  wonderful  prospect,  but  thinking  less  of  his  own  vast 
possessions  than  of  the  great  cathedral  of  Morningquest,  which 
he  coveted  for  Holy  Church.  He  had  become  a  convert  to 
Roman  Catholicism  in  his  old  age,  and  his  bigotry  and  cre 
dulity  were  as  great  now  as  his  laxity  and  scepticism  had 
been  before  his  conversion. 

He  was  sitting  alone  with  his  confessor  and  private  chaplain, 
Father  Ricardo,  a  man  of  middle  age,  middle  height,  attenuated 
form,  round  head  with  coarse  black  hair,  piercing  dark  eyes, 
aquiline  nose  somewhat  thick,  and  the  loose  mouth  character 
istic  of  devout  Roman  Catholics,  High  Church,  people,  and 
others  who  are  continually  being  wound  up  to  worship  an  un 
seen  Deity  by  means  of  sensuous  enjoyment ;  the  uncertain 
lines  into  which  the  lips  fall  in  repose  indicating  fairly  the 
habitual  extent  of  their  emotional  indulgences.  His  manners 
were  suave  and  deferential,  his  motives  sincerely  disinterested 
in  the  interests  of  the  Church,  his  method  of  gaining  his  ends 
unhampered  by  any  sense  of  the  need  of  extreme  verbal  accur 
acy.  He  was  reading  to  the  duke  when  the  children  were 
announced,  and  rose  and  bowed  low  to  them  as  they  entered, 
with  a  smile  of  respectful  and  affectionate  interest. 

Diavofo  raised  his  dusty  cap  to  his  chest  and  returned  the 
bow  with  punctilious  gravity.  Angelica  tossed  him  a  nod  as 
she  passed  up  the  room  in  a  business-like  way  to  where  her 
grandfather  was  sitting  facing  the  window.  The  old  duke 
looked  round  as  the  children  approached  and  his  face  relaxed  ; 
he  did  not  absolutely  smile,  but  his  eyes  twinkled. 

Angelica  plumped  down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  put  her 
arm  round  his  neck,  and  deposited  a  superficial  kiss  some 
where  in  the  region  of  his  ear,  while  Diavolo  wrung  his  hand 
more  ceremoniously,  but  with  much  energy.  Both  children 
seemed  sure  of  their  welcome,  and  comported  themselves  with 
their  usual  unaffected  ease  of  manner.  The  old  duke  con 
trolled  his  mouth,  but  there  was  something  in  the  expression 
of  his  countenance  which  meant  that  he  would  have  chuckled 


144  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

if  his  old  sense  of  humour  had  not  been  checked  by  the  pre 
sence  of  the  priest,  which  held  him  somehow  to  his  new  pro 
fessions  of  faith,  and  the  severe  dignity  of  demeanour  that  best 
befits  the  piety  of  a  professional  saint. 

He  was  wearing  a  little  black  velvet  skull  cap,  and  Angelica, 
still  sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  took  it  off  as  soon  as  she 
had  saluted  him,  looked  into  it,  and  clapped  it  on  to  the  back 
of  his  head  again,  somewhat  awry. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  your  black  velvet  coat  on  to-day,"  she 
said,  embracing  the  back  of  his  chair  with  an  arm,  and  kicking 
her  long  legs  about  in  her  fidgety  way.  "  It  goes  well  with 
your  hair,  and  I  like  the  feel  of  it." 

"  Have  you  a  holiday  to-day  ?  "  the  duke  demanded  with  an 
affectation  of  sternness. 

"Yes,"  said  Angelica  absently,  taking  up  one  of  his  delicate 
hands  and  transferring  a  costly  ring  from  his  slender  white 
forefinger  to  her  own  dirty  brown  one. 

"  No,"  the  more  exact  Diavolo  contradicted  ;  "  we  gave  Mr. 
Ellis  a  holiday." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  grandpapa,  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
lessons,"  said  Angelica  candidly.  "  I  fancy  Mr.  Ellis  is  fizzing 
by  this  time,  don't  you,  Diavolo  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  if  you  haven't  a  holiday  ?  "  their 
grandfather  asked. 

"  Visiting  you,  sir,"  Diavolo  answered  in  his  peculiar  drawl, 
which  always  left  you  uncertain  as  to  whether  he  intended  an 
impertinence  or  not.  He  was  lying  at  full  length  on  the  floor 
facing  his  grandfather,  with  the  back  of  his  head  resting  on  the 
low  window  sill,  and  the  old  gentleman  was  looking  at  him 
admiringly.  He  was  not  at  all  sure  of  the  import  of  Diavolo's 
last  reply,  but  had  the  tact  not  to  pursue  the  subject. 

The  priest  had  remained  standing,  with  his  hands  folded 
upon  the  book  he  had  been  reading,  and  a  set  smile  upon  his 
thin  intellectual  face,  behind  which  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
busy  thoughts  came  crowding. 

Angelica  turned  on  him  suddenly,  flinging  herself  from  the 
arm  of  her  grandfather's  chair  on  to  a  low  seat  which  stood 
with  its  back  to  the  window,  in  order  to  do  so. 

"  I  say,  Papa  Ricardo,  I  want  to  ask  you,"  she  began. 
•'  What  do  you  think  of  that  Baronne  de  Chantal,  whom  you 
call  Sainte,  when  her  son  threw  himself  across  the  threshold  of 
their  home  to  prevent  her  leaving  the  house,  and  she  stepped 
across  his  body  to  go  and  be  religieusc  ?  " 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  .  145 

"  It  was  the  heroic  act  of  a  holy  woman,"  the  priest  replied. 

"  But  I  thought  Home  was  the  woman's  sphere  ? "  said 
Angelica. 

"  Yes,"  the  priest  rejoined,  "  unless  God  calls  them  to 
religion." 

"  But  did  God  give  her  all  those  children  ? "  Angelica 
pursued. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Father  Ricardo.  "Children  are  the 
gift  of  God." 

"  Well,  so  I  thought  I  had  heard,"  Angelica  remarked,  with 
a  genial  air  of  being  much  interested.  "  But  it  seems  such  bad 
management  to  give  a  lady  a  lot  of  children,  and  then  take  her 
away  so  that  she  can't  look  after  them." 

The  poor  old  duke  had  been  dull  all  day.  His  mind,  under 
the  influence  of  his  father  confessor,  had  been  running  on  the 
horrors  of  hell,  and  such  subjects,  together  with  the  necessity 
of  accomplishing  certain  good  works  and  setting  aside  large 
sums  of  money  in  order  to  excuse  himself  from  such  condem 
nation  as  the  priest  had  ventured  to  hint  courteously  that  even 
a  great  duke  might  entail  upon  himself  by  the  quite  excusable 
errors  of  his  youth  ;  but  since  the  Heavenly  Twins  arrived  the 
old  gentleman  had  begun  to  see  things  again  from  a  point  of 
view  more  natural  to  one  of  his  family,  and  his  countenance 
cleared  in  a  way  which  denoted  that  his  spirits  were  rising. 
Father  Ricardo  was  accustomed  to  say  that  the  dear  chil 
dren's  high  spirits  were  apt  to  be  too  much  for  his  Grace  ; 
but  this  was  a  mistake,  due  doubtless  to  his  extreme  humility, 
which  would  not  allow  him  to  mention  himself,  for  whom 
there  was  no  doubt  the  dear  children  were  apt  to  be  too 
much. 

The  old  duke,  upon  that  last  remark  of  Angelica's,  twinkled 
a  glance  at  his  Father  Confessor  which  had  an  effect  on  the 
latter  that  made  itself  apparent  in  the  severity  of  his  reply  : 
"  The  ways  of  the  Lord  are  inscrutable,"  he  said,  "  and  it  is 
presumptuous  for  mortals,  however  great  their  station,  to 
attempt  to  fathom  them." 

"  I  have  heard  that  before  too,  often,"  said  Diavolo,  with  a 
wise  nod  of  commendation. 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Angelica  ;  and  then  both  children  beamed 
at  the  priest  cordially,  and  the  long-suppressed  chuckle  escaped 
from  the  duke. 

Father  Ricardo  retired  into  himself. 

<'  Grandpapa,"  Diavolo  resumed — the  Heavenly  Twins  never 


146  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

allowed  the  conversation  to  flag — "Grandpapa,  do  you  believe 
there  ever  was  a  little  boy  who  never,  never,  told  a  lie  ?  " 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you  do  not  mean  me  to  infer  that  you  are 
mendacious?"  the  old  gentleman  sternly  rejoined. 

"Mendacious?"  Diavolo  repeated;  "that's  do  I  tell  lies, 
isn't  it?  Well,  you  see,  sir,  it's  like  this.  If  I'd  been  up  to 
something,  and  you  asked  me  if  I'd  done  it,  I'd  say  *  Yes  '  like  a 
shot  ;  but  if  Angelica  had  been  up  to  something,  and  I  knew  all 
about  it,  and  you  asked  me  if  she'd  done  it,  I'd  say 'No' 
flatly." 

"  Do  I  understand,  sir,  that  you  would  tell  me  a  lie 
'flatly'?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Diavolo  decidedly,  "  if  you  were  mean  enough 
to  expect  me  to  sneak  on  Angelica." 

"  Father  Ricardo,"  the  latter  began  energetically,  "  when 
you  tell  a  lie  do  you  look  straight  at  a  person  or  just  past  the 
side  of  their  heads?" 

"/always  look  straight  at  a  person  myself,"  said  Diavolo, 
gravely  considering  the  priest ;  "  I  can't  help  it." 

"  It's  the  best  way,"  said  Angelica  with  the  assurance  of  one 
who  has  tried  both.  "  I  suppose,  grandpapa,"  she  pursued, 
"  when  people  get  old  they  have  nothing  to  tell  lies  about. 
They  just  sit  and  listen  to  them  ;  "  and  again  she  looked  hard 
at  Father  Ricardo,  whose  face  had  gradually  become  suffused 
with  an  angry  red. 

"  I  should  think,  Father  Ricardo,"  said  Diavolo,  observing 
this,  "if  you  were  a  layman,  you  would  be  feeling  now  as  if 
you  could  throttle  us  ?  " 

But  before  the  poor  priest  could  utter  the  reproof  which 
trembled  on  his  lips,  the  door  opened  and  the  duke's  unmarried 
daughter  and  youngest  child,  the  beautiful  Lady  Fulda, 
entered,  and  changed  the  moral  atmosphere  in  a  moment. 

Both  children  rose  to  receive  her  tender  kisses  affectionately. 

Their  passionate  appreciation  of  all  things  beautiful  be 
trayed  itself  in  the  way  they  gazed  at  her  ;  and  hers  was  the 
only  presence  that  ever  subdued  them  for  a  moment. 

"  I  like  her  in  white  and  gold,"  Angelica  remarked  to 
Diavolo  when  she  had  looked  her  longest. 

"  So  do  I,"  Diavolo  rejoined  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction. 

"  My  dear  children  !  "  Lady  Fulda  exclaimed.  "  You  must 
not  discuss  my  appearance  in  that  way.  You  speak  of  me  as 
i£  I  were  not  here." 

"  You   never   seem   to   be   here,  somehow,"  said   Diavolo, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  14? 

struggling  with  a  big  thought  he  could  not  express.  "  I  always 
feel  when  you  come  in  as  if  you  were  miles  and  miles  away 
from  us.  Now,  mamma  is  always  close  to  us,  and  papa  gets 
quite  in  the  way  ;  but  you  seem  to  be  " — he  raised  both  hands 
high  above  his  head,  with  the  palms  spread  outward,  and  then 
let  his  arms  sink  to  his  sides  slowly.  The  gesture  expressed 
an  immeasurable  distance  above  and  beyond  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  Angelica,  "  I  feel  that  too.  But  sometimes, 
when  there's  music  and  flowers  and  no  light  to  speak  of — in 
church,  you  know — and  you  feel  as  if  angels  might  be  about, 
or  even  the  Lord  himself,  I  rise  up  beside  you  somehow,  and 
come  quite  close." 

Lady  Fulda's  eyes  deepened  with  feeling  as  Angelica  spoke, 
and  drawing  the  child  to  her  side,  she  smoothed  her  hair,  and 
gazed  down  into  her  face  earnestly,  as  if  she  would  penetrate 
the  veil  of  flesh  that  baffled  her  when  she  tried  to  see  clearly 
the  soul  of  which  Angelica  occasionally  gave  her  some  such 
glimpse. 

The  old  duke  glanced  round  at  the  clock,  and  instantly  the 
attentive  priest  stepped  to  the  window  and  opened  it  wide. 
Then  the  duke  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  enjoin  silence,  and  pre 
sently  the  music  of  the  bells  of  the  city  clocks,  striking  the 
hour  in  various  tones,  and  all  at  different  moments,  causing  a 
continuous  murmurous  sea  of  sound,  arose  from  below.  When 
the  last  vibration  ceased  there  was  a  quite  perceptible  pause. 
The  duke  took  off  his  little  round  black  velvet  cap,  and  leant 
forward,  listening  intently  ;  Lady  Fulda  bent  her  head  and 
her  lips  moved  ;  the  priest  folded  his  hands  and  looked  straight 
before  him  with  the  unconscious  eyes  of  one  absorbed  in 
thought  or  prayer  who  sees  not  ;  the  twins,  assuming  a  sancti 
monious  expression,  bowed  their  hypocritical  heads  and 
watched  what  was  going  on  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes. 
There  was  a  moment's  interval,  and  then  came  the  chime, 
mellowed  by  distance,  but  clear  ,and  resonant : 

JUZ 


£3 


Be,  watch-ing o- ver       Is  -  fca  -  el,     clumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 


It  was  the  habit  of  the  old  duke  to  listen  for  it  hour  by  hour, 
and  while  it  rang,  he,  and  those  of  his  household  who  shared 
his  faith,  offered  a  fervent  prayer  for  the  restoration  of  Holy 
Church. 


148  THE  HEAVENLY  TWtttS, 

Lady  Fulda  insisted  on  sending  the  children  home  under 
proper  escort.  They  strongly  objected.  They  said  they  were 
not  going  straight  home  ;  they  had  to  call  on  the  Bishop  of 
Morningquest. 

"  Why  are  you  going  to  call  on  the  Bishop  of  Morning- 
quest?"  their  aunt  asked. 

"  We  wish  to  see  him,"  Angelica  answered  stiffly. 

"  On  the  subject  of  rotten  potatoes,"  Diavolo  supplemented. 
Lady  Fulda  stared. 

"  Sainte  Chantal,  you  know,"  said  the  ready  Angelica.  The 
reason  was  new  to  her,  but  the  twins  usually  understood  each 
other  like  a  flash.  "  They  put  a  rotten  potato  on  her  plate  one 
day  at  dinner,  and  she  ate  it." 

"  She  was  so  hungry?"  suggested  Lady  Fulda,  trying  hard 
to  remember  the  story. 

"  No,  so  humble,"  Angelica  answered  ;  "  at  least  so  they 
say  in  the  book  ;  but  we  don't  think  it  could  have  been  humil 
ity  ;  it  must  have  been  horrid  bad  taste  ;  but  we're  going  to 
ask  the  bishop.  He's  so  temperate,  you  know.  We  tried  to 
discuss  the  matter  with  Father  Ricardo,  but  he  shut  us  up 
promptly." 

"  My  dear  child  !  "  Lady  Fulda  exclaimed,  "  what  an  expres 
sion  !  " 

"I  assure  you  it  is  the  right  one,  Aunt  Fulda,"  Angelica 
maintained.  **  He  got  quite  red  in  the  face." 

"Yes,"  said  Diavolo,  gazing  at  Father  Ricardo  thought 
fully.  "  He  looked  hot  enough  to  set  fire  to  us  if  he'd 
touched  us." 

"  I  should  think  he  would  have  been  invaluable  in  the 
Inquisition,"  said  Angelica,  to  whom  that  last  remark  of 
Diavolo's  had  opened  up  a  boundless  field  of  speculation  and 
retrospect.  "  Wouldn't  you  like  to  hear  a  heretic  go  off  pop 
on  a  pile?  "  she  inquired,  turning  to  Father  Ricardo. 

The  duke  and  Lady  Fulda  glanced  at  him  involuntarily,  and 
very  good-naturedly  tried  to  smile.  This,  however,  did  not 
necessitate  such  an  effort  as  the  mere  cold  reading  of  the 
twins'  remark  might  make  it  appear,  for  they  both  had  a  cer 
tain  charm  of  manner,  expressive  of  an  utter  absence  of  any 
intention  to  offend,  which  no  kindly  disposed  person  could 
resist ;  and  Father  Ricardo  was  essentially  kindly  disposed. 

The  twins  were  taking  their  leave  by  this  time.  Angelica 
proceeded  to  deposit  one  of  her  erratic  kisses  somewhere  on 
the  old  duke's  head,  with  an  emphasis  which  caused  him  to 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  149 

wince  perceptibly.     Then  she  went  up  to  Father  Ricardo,  and 
shook  hands  with  him. 

"  I  hope  the  next  time  we  come  you  will  be  able  to  tell  us 
some  nice  bogey  stories  about  death  and  the  judgment,  and 
hell,  and  that  kind  of  thing,"  she  said  politely.  "  They  inter 
est  us  very  much.  You  remember,  you  told  us  some  before  ?" 

"It  must  be  very  jolly  for  grandpapa  to  have  you  here 
always,  ready  to  make  his  blood  run  cold  whenever  he  feels 
dull,"  Diavolo  observed,  looking  up  at  the  priest  admiringly. 
"  You  do  it  so  well,  you  know,  just  as  if  you  believed  it  all." 

"  We  tried  it  once  with  some  children  we  had  to  spend  the 
day  with  us  at  Hamilton  House,"  Angelica  said.  "We  took 
them  into  a  dark  room — the  long  room,  you  know,  Aunt  Fulda  ; 
and  Diavolo  rubbed  a  match  on  the  wall  at  the  far  end,  and  I 
explained  that  that  was  a  glimmer  of  hell-fire  at  a  great  dis 
tance  off  ;  and  then  we  told  them  if  they  didn't  keep  quite  still 
the  old  devil  himself  would  come  creeping  up  behind  without 
any  noise,  and  jump  on  their  backs." 

"And  the  little  beggars  howled,"  Diavolo  added,  as  if  that 
consequence  still  filled  him  with  astonishment. 

"  My  dear  children,  I  am  afraid  you  tell  dreadful  stories," 
Lady  Fulda  exclaimed  in  a  horrified  tone. 

"  Yes,"  said  Angelica,  with  her  grave  little  nod  ;  "  and  we're 
improving  ;  but  we  cannot  come  up  to  Father  Ricardo  yet  in 
that  line." 

"  Not  by  a  long  chalk,"  said  Diavolo. 

"  But,  my  dear  child,"  Lady  Fulda  solemnly  asserted, 
"  Father  Ricardo  tells  you  nothing  but  what  is  absolutely  true." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  Angelica  asked. 

"  Oh — oh  !  "  Lady  Fulda  stammered,  and  then  looked  at  the 
priest  appealingly. 

"  When  you  are  older,  and  able  to  understand  these  things," 
Father  Ricardo  began  with  gentle  earnestness,  "  perhaps  you 
will  allow  me " 

"But  how  do  you  know  it's  true  yourself?"  Angelica 
demanded. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  devil, 
With  his  little  spade  and  shovel, 
Digging  praties  in  the  garden 
With  his  tail  cocked  up?"— 

Diavolo  chanted,  accompanying  the  words  with  a  little 
dance,  in  which  Angelica,  holding  up  her  habit,  joined  incon 
tinently. 


ISO  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

Lady  Fulda  remained  grave,  but  the  old  duke  and  Father 
Ricardo  himself  were  moved  to  mirth,  and  there  was  no  more 
talk  of  Revealed  Religion,  the  Power  of  the  Popedom,  and 
the  glory  of  the  Church  on  earth,  at  Morne  that  day. 

Lady  Fulda  had  been  firm  about  sending  the  children  home 
under  escort,  and  they  found  a  steady  old  groom  waiting 
ready  to  mount  a  spirited  horse  when  they  went  down  to  the 
courtyard  to  get  on  their  ponies.  They  had  discovered  a  box 
of  croquet  mallets  on  their  way  downstairs,  and  borrowed  one 
each. 

As  they  descended  the  steep  hill  leading  from  the  castle,  at 
a  walk,  they  began  to  discuss  recent  events,  as  their  habit  was. 

"  What  did  you  do  when  the  chime  went,  and  you  hung  your 
head  ? "  said  Angelica. 

"  I  hoped  there'd  be  hot  cakes  for  tea ;  but  I  didn't  mean  it 
for  a  prayer,"  Diavolo  answered,  as  if  the  matter  admitted  of 
a  doubt. 

"  I'm  glad  we  decided  to  go  secondly  to  the  palace  ;  I  didn't 
think  much  of  grandpapa's  tea,"  Angelica  observed.  "  It  was 
all  china,  and  no  cakes — to  speak  of ;  no  crisp  ones,  you 
know." 

"  Well,  you  see  his  teeth  are  bad,"  said  Diavolo  indulgently. 

"  He  has  enough  of  them,  then  !  "  Angelica  answered. 

"  Yes,  but  they  aren't  much  good,  they're  so  loose,  you 
know  ;  every  now  and  again  you  can  see  them  waggle,"  said 
Diavolo. 

"I'd  like  to  see  him  bite  a  fig !  "  said  Angelica,  chuckling. 

"They'd  stick,  I  suppose,"  said  Diavolo  meditatively.  "I 
expect  there  will  be  great  improvements  in  those  matters  by 
the  time  we  want  to  be  patched." 

The  groom,  who  had  been  riding  at  a  respectful  distance 
behind,  suddenly  perceived  that  he  had  lost  sight  of  the 
children  altogether.  The  descent  was  steep  just  there,  and 
winding  ;  and,  knowing  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  the  man 
urged  his  horse  on,  straining  his  eyes  at  every  turn  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  twins,  but  vainly,  till  he  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  hill,  when  they  bounced  out  on  him  suddenly  from  among 
the  trees  on  either  side  of  the  road,  whooping  and  flourishing 
their  mallets  wildly.  The  horse,  which  was  very  fresh,  gave 
one  great  bound  and  bolted,  and  the  Heavenly  Twins,  shriek 
ing  with  delight,  hunted  him  hard  into  Morningquest. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  palace,  Angelica  asked  with  the 
utmost  confidence  if  the  bishop  were  at  home ;  and,  being 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  151 

informed  by  an  obsequious  footman  that  he  was,  the  twins 
marched  into  the  hall,  and  were  ushered  into  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Beale  and  her  daughter  Edith. 

"  Tell  his  lordship  we  are  here,"  Angelica  said  to  the  ser 
vant  authoritatively,  before  she  performed  her  salutations. 
When  these  were  over,  the  twins  sat  down  opposite  to  Edith 
and  inspected  her. 

"We've  just  been  seeing  Aunt  Fulda,"  Diavolo  remarked. 

Angelica  caught  the  connection  :  "  Your  hair  is  about  the 
same  colour  as  hers,  but  your  face  is  smoother,"  she  observed. 
"It  looks  like  porcelain.  Hers  has  little  stipples,  you  know, 
about  the  nose,  when  you  go  close.  They  seem  to  come  as 
you  get  older." 

"  Uncle  Dawne  calls  you  Saxon  Edith,"  said  Diavolo. 
"  Don't  you  wonder  he  doesn't  want  to  marry  you  ?  /  do. 
When  I'm  old  enough  I'm  going  to  propose  to  you  ;  do  you 
think  you  will  have  me  ?  " 

"  Have  you  !  I  should  think  not,  indeed  ! "  Angelica 
exclaimed  with  a  jealous  flash.  At  that  time  the  notion  of 
sharing  her  brother's  affection  with  anybody  always  enraged 
her. 

Diavolo  was  irritated  by  her  scornful  manner. 

"  I  am  a  little  afraid,"  he  began,  addressing  Mrs.  Beale  in 
his  deliberate  way  :  "  I  am  a  little  afraid  Angelica  will  stand 
in  the  way  of  my  making  a  good  match.  No  respectable  wife 
would  have  her  about." 

Quick  as  thought,  Angelica  had  him  by  the  hair,  and  the 
two  were  tumbling  over  each  other  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Beale  and  Edith  sprang  forward  to  separate  them,  but 
that  was  impossible  until  the  twins  had  banged  each  other  to 
their  heart's  content,  when  they  got  up,  with  their  feelings 
thoroughly  relieved,  and  resumed  their  seats  and  the  conver 
sation  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  The  skirmish,  however, 
had  been  severe  although  short.  Diavolo  had  a  deep  scratch 
over  his  right  eyebrow  which  began  to  bleed  profusely. 
Angelica  was  the  first  to  notice  it,  and  tearing  out  a  handker 
chief  which  was  up  her  sleeve,  she  rolled  it  into  a  bandage 
roughly,  whirled  over  to  Diavolo,  and  tied  it  round  his  head, 
covering  his  right  eye,  and  leaving  a  great  knot  and  two  long 
ends  sticking  up  like  rabbit's  ears  amongst  his  fair  hair,  and  a 
pointed  flap  hanging  down  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  I  must  cut  my  nails,"  she  remarked,  giving  a  finishing 
touch  to  this  labour  of  love,  which  made  Diavolo  rock  on  his 


152  THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

chair,  but  he  accepted  her  attentions  as  a  matter-of-course, 
merely  drawling  :  "Angelica  is  so  energetical  !  "  as  he  recov 
ered  his  balance. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  bishop  bustled  in.  He  had  been 
eugaged  upon  some  important  diocesan  duties  when  the 
twins  were  announced  ;  but,  thinking  they  must  have  come  with 
an  urgent  message,  he  suspended  the  work  of  the  diocese,  and 
hurried  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

The  twins  rose  to  receive  him  with  their  usual  unaffected 
affability.  He  was  a  short  stout  man  with  a  pleasant  face,  and 
a  cordial  well-bred  manner  ;  a  little  apt  to  be  fussy  on  occa 
sion,  and  destitute  of  any  sense  of  humour  in  other  people, 
although  given  to  making  his  own  little  jokes.  He  was  a 
bishop  of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  owing  his  position  to  family 
influence  rather  than  to  any  special  attainment  or  qualifica 
tion  ;  but  he  was  a  good  man,  and  popular,  and  the  See  of 
Morningquest  would  have  had  much  to  regret  if  the  back  door 
by  which  he  got  into  the  Church  had  been  shut  before  he 
passed  through  it. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  has  been  an  accident,"  he  said  with  con 
cern  when  he  saw  Diavolo's  head  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief. 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,  sir,"  that  young  gentleman  assured 
him.  "  It  is  only  a  scratch." 

"  /did  it,"  said  the  candid  Angelica  ;  "  and  it  looked  unpleas 
ant,  so  I  tied  it  up." 

"  Oh,"  the  bishop  ejaculated,  glancing  inquiringly  at  his 
wife  and  daughter.  "  You  wanted  to  see  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Diavolo,  preparing  to  suit  his  conversation  to 
the  bishop's  taste.  "  There  are  a  great  many  things  we  want 
to  discuss  with  you  ;  what  were  they,  Angelica  ?  I  am  sure  I 
have  forgotten  them  all." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Angelica — Sainte  Chantal  and  the  rotten 
potato  had  quite  gone  out  of  her  mind.  "It  was  just  to  have 
a  little  interesting  conversation,  you  know." 

"  We're  getting  on  very  well  with  our  lessons,"  Diavolo 
gravely  assured  him,  anticipating  the  inevitable  question. 

"  We've  'just  come  from  Morne,"  said  Angelica. 

"  Indeed,"  the  bishop  answered.  "  How  is  your  grand- 
father?" 

"  Rather  flat  to-day,"  said  Angelica.  "  He  didn't  say  any 
thing  of  interest  ;  didn't  even  lecture  us." 

"  No  ;  but  he  looked  pleasant,"  said  Diavolo. 

"  I  like  him  to  lecture,"  Angelica  insisted.      "  I  like  him  to 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS.  153 

talk  about  the  Church,  how  it  is  going  to  encompass  the  earth, 
the  sea,  and  all  that  in  them  is  ;  and  that  kind  of  thing,  you 
know — boom,  boom  !  He  makes  you  feel  as  if  every  word  he 
uttered  ought  to  be  printed  in  capital  letters  ;  and  it  seems 
as  if  your  eyes  opened  wider  and  wider,  and  your  skin  got 
tight." 

Diavolo  nodded  his  head  to  one  side  in  intelligent  acquies 
cence. 

Not  being  troubled  with  self-consciousness,  he  wore  the 
handkerchief  with  which  his  head  was  decorated  with  the  grave 
dignity  of  his  best  behaviour. 

"  I  sometimes  think,  sir,"  he  began,  addressing  the  bishop 
exactly  in  his  father's  precise  way,  "  that  there  is  something 
remarkable  about  my  grandfather.  He  is  a  kind  of  a  prophet, 
I  imagine,  to  whom  the  Lord  doesn't  speak." 

Edith  walked  to  the  window,  Mrs.  Beale  got  out  her  hand 
kerchief  hastily  ;  the  bishop's  countenance  relaxed. 

"  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  like  us  to  be  converted  ?  "  Angelica 
asked. 

"  We  call  it  perverted,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Beale. 

"  Well,  they  call  it  converted  just  as  positively  up  at  the 
castle,"  Angelica  rejoined,  not  argumentatively,  merely  stating 
the  fact. 

"I  wonder  what  the  angels  call  it,"  said  Diavolo,  looking  up 
in  their  direction  out  of  a  window  opposite,  and  then  glancing 
at  the  bishop  as  if  he  thought  he  ought  to  know. 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  care  a  button  what  we  call  it,"  An 
gelica  decided  off-hand,  out  of  her  own  inner  consciousness. 
"  But  you  would  not  like  us  to  be  either  '  con  '  or  *  per,'  would 
you  ? "  she  asked  the  bishop. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  not  discuss  so  serious  a  question  with 
you  to-day,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  very  busy,  and  I  must  go 
back  to  my  work." 

"  I  thought  you  looked  unsettled,"  Angelica  observed.  "  I 
know  what  it  is  when  you've  got  to  come  to  the  drawing  room, 
and  want  to  be  somewhere  else.  They  won't  excuse  us  at 
home  as  a  rule,  but  we'll  excuse  you,  if  you  like." 

"  Eh — thank  you,"  the  old  gentleman  answered,  glancing 
with  a  smile  at  his  wife. 

"  But  I  should  think  some  tea  would  do  you  good,"  Diavolo 
suggested. 

"  Have  you  not  had  any  tea  ?  "  Edith  asked,  stretching  her 
hand  out  toward  the  bell. 


154  THE  HEAVENLY   7 'WINS. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  answered.  "  We've  had  a  little  " — the  tone 
implied,  "  but  not  nearly  enough." 

"  We  always  like  your  cakes,  you  know,"  said  Angelica ; 
"and  ours  at  Hamilton  House  are  generally  nice;  but  at 
Morne  they're  sometimes  sodden." 

The  bishop  withdrew  at  this  point,  and  the  children  devoted 
the  rest  of  their  attention  to  the  cakes. 

"  Now  we've  got  to  go  and  settle  with  Mr.  Ellis,"  Diavolo 
remarked  to  Angelica,  yawning,  as  they  walked  their  ponies 
out  of  the  palace  grounds. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  we've  done  the  celebration  thoroughly,' 
she  answered,  "and  enjoyed  it.  He  won't  be  able  to  help  that 
now.  Oh — by  the  way  !  here's  grandpapa's  ring.  I  forgot  it." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Diavolo.  "  He  knows  you'll  take 
care  of  it." 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  the  old  duke  at  Morne  missed 
the  ring,  and  remarked  :  "  Ah,  I  remember,  Angelica  has  it. 
She  put  it  on  her  finger  when  she  was  sitting  beside  me  this 
afternoon." 

"  Shall  I  go  at  once  to  Hamilton  House,  and  bring  it  back 
with  me  ?  "  Father  Ricardo  asked,  somewhat  officiously. 

u  No,  sir,  thank  you,"  said  the  duke  with  dignity.  "My 
grand-daughter  will  return  the  ring  when  it  suits  her  con 
venience." 

Next  day  Angelica  begged  her  father  to  take  the  ring  back 
for  her  with  a  note  of  apology  explaining  that  she  had  forgotten 
it,  and  expressing  her  regret. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PART  of  the  old  gray  palace  at  Morningquest  had  been  a 
monastery.  The  walls  were  thick,  the  windows  gothic,  the 
bedrooms  small,  the  reception  rooms  huge,  as  if  built  for  the 
accommodation  of  a  whole  community  at  a  time ;  and  with 
unexpected  alcoves  and  angles  and  deep  embrasures,  all  very 
picturesque,  and  also  extremely  inconvenient ;  but  Edith 
Beale,  who  had  been  born  in  the  palace  and  grown  up  there, 
under  the  protection  of  the  great  cathedral,  as  it  were,  and 
the  influence  of  its  wonderful  chime,  was  never  conscious  of 
the  inconvenience,  and  would  not,  at  any  rate,  have  exchanged  it 
for  the  comfort  and  luxury  of  the  best  appointed  modern  house. 
The  Bishop  of  Morningquest  and  Mrs,  Beale  had  three  sons, 


TtiE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  155 

but  Edith  was  their  only  daughter,  their  white  child,  their 
pearl ;  and  certainly  she  was  a  lovely  specimen  of  a  well-bred 
English  girl. 

On  the  day  following  that  upon  which  the  Heavenly  Twins 
had  celebrated  the  important  occasion  of  their  first  sponta 
neous  "  Kow-tow,"  as  they  called  it,  in  the  early  morning 
Edith,  being  still  asleep,  turned  toward  the  east  window  of 
her  room,  the  blind  of  which  was  up,  and  fell  into  a  dream. 
The  sun,  as  he  rose,  smiled  in  upon  her.  She  had  flung  her 
left  hand  up  above  her  head  with  the  pink  palm  outward,  and 
the  fingers  half  bent ;  the  right  lay  on  the  sheet  beside  her, 
palm  downward,  spread  out,  and  all  relaxed.  Her  whole 
attitude  expressed  the  most  complete  abandonment  of  deep 
and  restful  sleep. 

The  night  had  been  warm,  and  the  heavier  draperies  had 
slipped  from  her  bed  on  the  farther  side,  leaving  only  the  sheet. 

Her  warm  bright  hair,  partly  loosened  from  the  one  thick 
braid  into  which  it  had  been  plaited,  fell  from  off  the  pillow  to 
the  floor  on  her  right,  and  the  sun,  looking  in,  lit  it  up  and 
made  it  sparkle.  She  left  that  window  with  the  blind  un 
drawn  so  that  he  might  arouse  her  every  morning  ;  and  now, 
as  the  first  pale  ray  gleamed  over  her  face,  her  eyelids  quiv 
ered,  and  half  opened,  but  she  was  still  busy  with  her  dream 
and  did  not  wake.  She  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  dreams  and 
of  mystic  old  associations.  Events  of  the  days  gone  by  were 
often  more  distinctly  pictured  in  her  mind  than  incidents  of 
yesterday.  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  her  mother,  and  all  the  gentle 
mannered,  pure-minded  women  among  whom  she  had  grown 
up,  thought  less  of  this  world,  even  as  they  knew  it,  than  of 
the  next  as  they  imagined  it  to  be  ;  and  they  received  and 
treasured  with  perfect  faith  every  legend,  hint,  and  shadow  of 
a  communication  which  they  believed  to  have  come  to  them 
from  thence.  They  neglected  the  good  they  might  have  done 
here  in  order  to  enjoy  their  bright  and  tranquil  dreams  of  the 
hereafter.  Their  spiritual  food  was  faith  and  hope.  They 
kept  their  tempers  even  and  unruffled  by  never  allowing  them 
selves  to  think  or  know,  so  far  as  it  is  possible  with  average 
inteHigence  not  to  do  either  in  this  world,  anything  that  is  evil 
of  anybody.  They  prided  themselves  on  only  believing  all 
that  is  good  of  their  fellow-creatures  ;  this  was  their  idea  of 
Christian  charity.  Thus  they  always  believed  the  best  about 
everybody,  not  on  evidence,  but  upon  principle  ;  and  then 
they  acted  as  if  their  attitude  had  made  their  acquaintances 


IS&  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS, 

all  they  desired  them  to  be.  They  seemed  to  think  that  by 
ignoring  the  existence  of  sin,  by  refusing  to  obtain  any  knowl 
edge  of  it,  they  somehow  helped  to  check  it ;  and  they  could 
not  have  conceived  that  their  attitude  made  it  safe  to  sin,  so 
that,  when  they  refused  to  know  and  to  resist,  they  were 
actually  countenancing  evil  and  encouraging  it.  The  kind  of 
Christian  charity  from  which  they  suffered  was  a  vice  in  itself. 
To  keep  their  own  minds  pure  was  the  great  object  of  their 
lives,  which  really  meant  to  save  themselves  from  the  horror 
and  pain  of  knowing. 

Edith,  by  descent,  by  teaching,  by  association,  and  in  virtue 
of  the  complete  ignorance  in  which  she  had  been  kept,  was 
essentially  one  of  that  set.  It  is  impossible  for  any  adult 
creature  to  be  more  .piritually  minded  than  she  was.  She 
lived  in  a  state  cf  exquisite  feeling.  The  whole  training  of 
her  mind  had  been  so  directed  as  to  make  her  existence  one 
long  beatific  vision,  and  she  was  unconsciously  prepared  to 
resent  in  her  gentle  way,  and  to  banish  at  once,  if  possible, 
any  disturbing  thought  that  might  break  in  upon  it. 

In  her  dream  that  morning  ,;he  smiled  at  first,  and  then  she 
fairly  laughed.  She  had  met  the  Heavenly  Twins,  and  they 
were  telling  her  something — what  was  it  ?  The  most  amusing 
thing  she  had  ever  heard  them  say  ;  she  knew  it  by  the  way  it 
had  made  her  laugh — why  couldn't  she  repeat  it  ?  She  was 
trying  to  tell  her  mother,  and  while  in  the  act,  she  became 
suddenly  aware  of  a  strange  place,  and  Diavolo  kneeling  at 
her  feet,  clasping  her  left  hand,  and  kissing  it.  She  felt  the 
touch  of  his  lips  distinctly  ;  they  were  soft  and  warm.  He 
was  beseeching  her  to  marry  him,  she  understood,  and  she 
was  going  to  laugh  at  him  for  being  a  ridiculous  boy,  but  it 
was  the  steadfast,  dark  blue  eyes  of  Lord  Dawne  that  met 
hers,  and  she  was  looking  up  at  him,  and  not  down  at  the  fair- 
haired  Diavolo  kneeling  before  her.  She  caught  the  gloss  on 
Lord  Dawne's  black  hair,  the  curve  of  his  slight  moustache, 
and  the  gleam  of  his  white  teeth.  He  was  grave,  but  his  lips 
were  parted,  and  he  carried  a  little  child  in  his  arms,  and  the 
expression  of  his  face  was  like  the  dear  Lord's  in  a  picture  of 
the  Good  Shepherd  which  she  had  in  her  room.  He  held  the 
little  child  out  to  her.  She  took  it  from  him,  smiling,  raised 
jts  little  velvet  cheek  to  hers,  and  then  drew  back  to  look  at  it, 
but  was  horrified  because  it  was  not  beautiful  at  all  as  it  had 
been  the  moment  before,  but  deformed,  and  its  poor  little 
body  was  covered  with  sores.  The  sight  sickened  her,  and 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  15 7 

she  tried  to  cover  it  with  her  own  clothes.  She  tore  at  the 
skirt  of  her  gown.  She  struggled  to  take*  off  a  cloak  she  wore. 
She  stripped  herself  in  the  endeavour  and  cried  aloud  in  her 
shame,  but  she  could  not  help  herself,  and  Dawne  could  not 
help  her,  and  in  the  agony  of  the  attempt  she  awoke,  and 
sprang  up,  clutching  at  the  bedclothes,  but  was  not  able  to 
find  them  at  first,  because  they  had  fallen  on  the  floor ;  and 
she  fancied  herself  still  in  her  horrible  dream.  Big  drops  of 
perspiration  stood  on  her  forehead,  her  eyes  were  dazzled  by 
the  sun,  and  she  was  all  confused.  She  jumped  out  of  bed 
and  stood  a  moment,  trying  to  collect  herself ;  and  the  first 
thing  she  saw  distinctly  was  the  picture  of  the  Saviour  on  the 
wall.  A  Prie-dieu  stood  beneath  it,  and  she  went  and  knelt 
there,  her  beautiful  yellow  hair  streaming  behind  her,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  wonderful,  sad,  sweet  face. 

"Dear  Lord,"  she  prayed  passionately,  "keep  me  from  all 
knowledge  of  unholy  things," — by  which  she  meant  sights  and 
circumstances  that  were  unlovely,  and  horrified. 

She  knelt  for  some  minutes  longer,  with  all  articulate 
thought  suspended  ;  but  by  degrees  there  came  to  her  that 
glow  in  the  chest,  that  expansion  of  it  which  is  the  accompani 
ment  of  the  exalted  sentiment  known  to  us  as  adoration,  or 
love  ;  love  purged  of  all  earthly  admixture  of  doubt  and  fear, 
which  is  the  most  delicious  sensation  human  nature  is  capable 
of  experiencing.  And  presently  she  arose,  free  from  the  pain 
ful  impression  made  by  the  revolting  details  of  her  dream,  put 
her  hands  under  her  hair  at  the  back  of  her  neck,  and  then 
raised  them  up  above  her  head  and  her  hair  with  them,  stretch 
ing  herself  and  yawning  slightly.  Then  she  brought  her  hair  all 
around  to  the  right  in  a  mass,  and  let  it  hang  down  to  her  knees, 
and  looked  at  it  dreamily  ;  and  then  began  to  twist  it  slowly, 
preparatory  to  coiling  it  round  her  head.  She  went  to  the 
dressing-table  for  hairpins  to  fasten  it,  holding  up  her  long 
nightdress  above  her  white  feet  with  one  hand  that  she  might 
not  trip,  and,  standing  before  the  mirror,  blushed  at  the  beauty 
of  her  own  reflection.  When  she  had  put  her  hair  out  of  the 
way,  she  glanced  at  her  bed  somewhat  longingly,  then  at  her 
watch.  It  was  very  early,  arid  the  morning  was  chilly,  so  she 
put  on  her  white  flannel  dressing  gown,  got  a  book,  returned  to 
her  bed,  and  propped  herself  up  in  a  comfortable  position  for 
reading ;  and  so  she  spent  the  time  happily  until  her  maid  came 
to  call  her.  Her  book  that  morning  was  "  The  Life  of  Frances 
Ridley  Havergal,"  and  she  found  it  absorbingly  interesting. 


158  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  ladies  of  an  artist's  family  usually  arrange  and  deco 
rate  their  rooms  in  a  way  which  recalls  the  manner  called 
artistic,  more  especially  when  the  artist  is  a  figure  or  subject, 
as  distinguished  from  a  landscape  painter,  for  the  latter  lives 
too  much  in  the  free  fresh  air  to  cultivate  draperies,  even  if  he 
does  not  absolutely  detest  them  as  being  stuffy  ;  and  in  the 
same  way  the  bedroom  of  the  only  daughter  of  the  Bishop  of 
Morningquest  would  have  made  you  think  of  matters  eccles 
iastical.  The  room  itself,  with  its  thick  walls,  high  stone 
mantelpiece,  small  gothic  windows,  and  plain  ridged  vault, 
was  so  in  fact  ;  and  a  sense  of  suitability  as  well  as  the  natural 
inclination  of  the  occupant  had  led  her  to  choose  the  furniture 
and  decoration  as  severely  in  keeping  as  possible.  The 
pictures  consisted  of  photographs  or  engravings  of  sacred 
subjects,  all  of  Roman  Catholic  origin.  There  was  a  "Virgin 
and  Child,"  by  Botticelli,  and  another  by  Perugini ;  "  Our 
Lady  of  the  Cat,"  by  Baroccio  ;  the  exquisite  "  Vision  of  St. 
Helena,"  by  Paolo  Veronese  ;  Correggio's  "  Ecce  Homo  "  ; 
and  others  less  well-known  ;  with  a  ghastly  Crucifixion  too 
painful  to  be  endured,  especially  by  a  young  girl,  had  not 
custom  dulled  all  genuine  perception  of  the  horror  of  it.  The 
whole  effect,  however,  was  a  delicious  impression  of  freshness 
and  serenity,  which  inspired  something  of  the  same  respect 
for  Edith's  sanctum  that  one  felt  for  Edith  herself,  as  was 
evident  on  one  occasion,  when,  the  ladies  of  his  family  being 
absent,  the  Bishop  of  Morningquest  had  taken  Mr.  Kilroy  of 
Ilverthorpe,  a  gentleman  who  had  lately  settled  in  that  neigh 
bourhood,  over  the  palace.  When  they  came  to  Edith's  room, 
he  had  opened  the  door  absently,  and  then,  remembering  whose 
it  was,  he  said  :  "  My  daughter's  room,"  and  they  had  both 
looked  in  without  entering,  and  both  becoming  aware  at  the 
same  moment  that  they  had  their  hats  on,  removed  them  invol 
untarily. 

Edith's  dress  too,  was  characteristic.  All  the  ornamenta 
tion  was  out  of  sight,  the  lining  of  her  gowns  being  often  more 
costly  than  the  materials  of  which  they  were  made.  In  the 
same  way,  her  simple  unaffected  manners  werethe  plaingarment 
which  concealed  the  fine  quality  and  cultivation  of  her  mind. 
She  might  have  done  great  good  in  the  world  had  she  known 
of  the  evil  ;  she  would  have  fought  for  the  right  in  defiance  of 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWlftS.  IS9 

every  prejudice,  as  women  do.  But  she  had  never  been 
allowed  to  see  the  enemy.  She  had  been  fitted  by  education 
to  move  in  the  society  of  saints  and  angels  only,  and  so  rend 
ered  as  unsuited  as  she  was  unprepared  to  cope  with  the  world 
she  would  have  to  meet  in  that  state  of  life  to  which,  as  she 
herself  would  have  phrased  it,  it  had  pleased  God  to  call  her. 

When  she  left  her  room  that  morning  she  went  to  her 
mother's  sitting  room,  which  was  on  the  same  floor. 

Edith  and  her  mother  usually  breakfasted  here  together. 
Sometimes  the  bishop  joined  them  and  chatted  over  an  extra 
cup  of  tea  ;  but  he  was  an  early  riser,  and  had  generally 
breakfasted  with  his  chaplain  and  private  secretary,  and  done 
an  hour's  work  or  so  before  his  wife  appeared.  For  Mrs. 
Beale  was  delicate  at  that  time,  and  obliged  to  forego  the 
early  breakfast  with  her  husband  which  had  hitherto  been  the 
habit  and  pleasure  of  her  whole  married  life. 

The  bishop  did  not  come  up  to  the  sitting  room  that  morn 
ing,  however,  and  when  Edith  and  her  mother  had  breakfasted 
they  read  the  Psalms  for  the  day  together,  and  a  chapter  of 
the  Bible,  verse  by  verse.  Then  Edith  wrote  some  notes  for 
her  mother,  who  was  busy  making  a  cushion  for  a  bazaar ; 
after  which  she  went  into  the  garden  and  gathered  flowers  in 
one  of  the  conservatories,  which  she  brought  in  to  paint  on 
a  screen  she  was  making,  also  for  the  bazaar. 

Mother  and  daughter  worked  together  without  any  conver 
sation  to  speak  of  until  lunch  :  they  were  too  busy  to  talk. 
After  lunch  they  drove  out  into  the  country  and  paid  a  call. 
On  the  way  back  Edith  noticed  a  beggar,  a  young,  slender, 
very  delicate-looking  girl,  lying  across  the  footpath  with  her 
feet  toward  the  road.  A  tiny  baby  lay  on  her  lap.  Her  head 
and  shoulders  were  pillowed  upon  the  high  bank  which  flanked 
the  path,  her  face  was  raised  as  if  her  last  look  had  been  up 
at  the  sky  above  her,  her  hands  had  slipped  helplessly  on  to 
the  ground  on  either  side  of  her,  releasing  the  child,  which 
had  rolled  over  on  to  its  face  and  so  continued  inertly. 

Edith  caught  only  a  passing  glimpse  of  the  group,  and  she 
made  no  remark  until  they  had  driven  on  some  distance  ;  but 
then  she  asked  :  "  Did  you  notice  that  poor  girl,  mother  ? " 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Beale  answered.     "  Where  was  she  ?  " 

"Lying  on  the  ground.  She  had  a  baby  on  her  lap.  I  think 
she  was  ill." 

They  were  in  an  open  carriage,  and  Mrs.  Beale  looked 
round  over  the  back  of  it.  It  was  a  straight  road,  but  she 


160  THE  HEA  VENL  Y 

could  only  see  something  lying  on  the  footpath,  which  looked 
like  a  bundle  at  that  distance. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  was  a  girl  ?  "  she  said. 

"Yes,  quite,  mother,"  Edith  answered. 

"  Stop  the  carriage,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Beale  ;  "  and  we  will 
turn  back  and  see  what  we  can  do." 

They  found  the  girl  in  the  same  attitude.  Edith  was  about 
to  alight,  but  her  mother  stopped  her. 

"  Let  Edwards"  (the  footman,  who  was  an  old  servant), 
"  see  what  is  the  matter,"  she  said. 

Edith  instantly  sat  down  again,  and  the  footman  went  and 
stood  by  the  girl,  looking  down  at  her  curiously.  Then  he 
stooped,  took  off  his  glove,  and  put  the  points  of  the  four 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  on  her  chest,  like  an  amateur  doctor 
afraid  of  soiling  his  hands,  a  perfunctory  way  of  ascertaining 
if  she  still  breathed. 

"  I  know  who  it  is,  ma'am,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  car 
riage.  "  She's  French,  and  was  a  dressmaker  in  Morning- 
quest.  There  were  two  of  them,  sisters,  doing  a  very  good 
business,  but  they  got  to  know  some  of  the  gentry " 

Mrs.  Beale  stopped  him.  She  would  not  have  heard  the 
story  for  the  world. 

"  She's  not  dead,  is  she  ?"  Edith  asked  in  a  horrified  tone. 

The  man  looked  at  the  girl  again  from  where  he  stood  ; 
"  No,  miss,"  he  answered,  "  I  think  not.  She's  dead  beat 
after  a  long  tramp.  The  soles  are  wore  off  her  shoes.  Or 
likely  she's  fainted.  It's  a  pity  of  her,"  he  added  for  the 
relief  of  his  own  feelings,  looking  at  her  again  compas 
sionately. 

"  Oh,  mother  !  can't  we  d<5  something  ?  "  Edith  exclaimed. 

"  But  what  can  we  do?"  Mrs.  Beale  responded  helplessly, 
looking  at  Edwards  for  a  suggestion. 

"  We're  not  very  far  from  the  workus,"  he  said,  looking 
down  the  road  they  had  just  retraversed.  "  We  might  call 
there  as  we  pass,  and  leave  a  message  for  them  to  send  and 
take  her  in." 

"  Let  us  go  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Beale  in  a  tone  of  relief. 

Edith,  whose  face  was  pale,  looked  pityingly  once  more  at  the 
girl  and  her  little  child  as  they  drove  off.  It  had  not  occurred 
to  either  of  the  two  ladies,  gentle,  tender,  and  good  as  they 
were,  to  take  the  poor  dusty  disgraced  tramp  into  their  car 
riage,  and  restore  her  to  "  life  and  use  antf  name  and  fame  "  as 
they  might  have  done. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  lS 

The  incident,  however,  had  naturally  made  a  painful  impres 
sion  upon  them  both  ;  and  when  they  returned  to  the  palace 
they  ordered  tea  in  the  drawing  room  immediately,  feeling 
that  they  must  have  something,  and  went  there  with  their 
things  still  on  to  wait  for  it.  Neither  of  them  could  get  the 
tramp  and  her  baby  out  of  their  heads,  but  they  had  not  men 
tioned  her  since  they  came  in,  until  Mrs.  Beale  broke  a  long 
silence  by  exclaiming  :  "  We  will  drive  that  way  again  to-mor 
row,  and  find  out  how  they  are." 

Edith  needed  no  explanation  as  to  whom  she  was  alluding. 
"They  would  take  her  in  at  once,  of  course,  mother  ?  They 
could  not  put  it  off?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  no  !  not  when  we  asked  them,"  her  mother  answered. 

The  tea  was  brought  at  this  moment,  and  immediately  after 
ward  the  footman  announced  from  the  door;  "  Sir  Mosley 
Menteith,"  and  a  tall,  fair-haired  man  about  thirty,  with  a 
small,  fine,  light-coloured  moustache,  the  ends  of  which  were 
waxed  and  turned  up  toward  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  entered 
and  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Beale,  looking  into  her  face  intently 
as  he  did  so,  as  if  he  particularly  wanted  to  see  what  she  was 
like  ;  then  he  turned  to  Edith,  shook  hands,  and  looked  at 
her  intently  also,  and  taking  a  seat  near  her  he  continued  to 
scrutinize  her  in  a  way  that  brought  the  blood  to  her  cheeks, 
and  caused  her  to  drop  her  eyes  every  time  she  looked  at 
him.  But  they  were  old  acquaintances,  and  she  was  not  dis 
pleased. 

He  was  a  good-looking  young  man,  although  he  had  a  face 
which  some  people  called  empty  because  of  the  singular  immo 
bility  of  every  feature  except  his  eyes  ;  but  whether  the  set 
expression  was  worn  as  a  mask,  or  whether  he  really  had  noth 
ing  in  him,  was  a  question  which  could  only  be  decided  on 
intimate  acquaintance  ;  for  although  some  effect  of  person 
ality  continually  suggested  the  presence  in  him  of  thoughts 
and  feelings  disguised  or  concealed  by  an  affectation  of  impas 
sivity,  nothing  he  did  or  said  at  an  ordinary  interview  ever 
either  quite  confirmed  or  destroyed  the  impression. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone  abroad  with  your  regiment,"  said 
Mrs.  Beale,  who  had  received  him  cordially. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  he  answered,  looking  away  from  Edith  for  a 
minute  in  order  to  scrutinize  her  mother. 

He  always  seemed  to  be  inspecting  the  person  he  addressed, 
and  never  spoke  of  anyone  without  describing  their  charms  or 
blemishes  categorically.  "  Fact  is,  I've  just  come  to  say  good- 


Ib2  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

bye.  I've  been  abroad  on  leave  for  two  months.  Took  mine 
at  the  beginning  of  the  season." 

He  looked  intently  at  Edith  again  when  he  had  said  this. 

"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,"  the  servant  announced. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg's  ankle  was  strong  enough  now  for  her  to 
walk  from  her  little  house  in  the  Close  to  the  palace,  but  she 
had  to  use  a  stick.  She  was  bleached  by  being  so  much 
indoors,  and  looked  very  fragile  in  the  costly  simplicity  of  her 
black  draperies  as  she  entered. 

Mrs.  Beale  and  Edith  received  her  affectionately,  and  Sir 
Mosley  rose  and  transferred  his  scrutinizing  gaze  to  her  while 
they  were  so  occupied.  He  inspected  her  dark  glossy  hair  ; 
eyes,  nose,  mouth,  and  figure,  down  to  her  feet ;  then  looked 
into  her  eyes  again,  and  bowed  on  being  presented  by  Mrs. 
Beale. 

"  Sir  Mosley  is  in  the  Colquhoun  Highlanders,"  the  latter 
explained  to  Mrs.  Orton  Beg.  "  He  is  just  going  out  to  Malta 
to  join  them." 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  looked  up  at  him  with  interest  from  the  low 
chair  into  which  she  had  subsided  :  "  Then  you  know  my 
niece,  I  suppose,"  she  said — "  Mrs.  Colquhoun  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  yet  the  pleasure,"  he  answered,  smiling  so 
that  he  showed  his  teeth.  They  were  somewhat  discoloured 
by  tobacco,  but  the  smile  was  a  pleasant  one,  to  which  people 
instantly  responded.  He  went  to  the  tea  table  when  he  had 
spoken,  and  stood  there  waiting  to  hand  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  a  cup 
of  tea  which  Mrs.  Beale  was  pouring  out  for  her.  "  But  I  have 
seen  Mrs.  Colquhoun,"  he  added.  "I  was  at  the  wedding — 
she  looked  remarkably  well."  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  vacancy 
here,  and  turned  his  attention  inward  in  order  to  contemplate 
a  vision  of  Evadne  in  her  wedding  dress.  His  first  question 
about  a  strange  woman  was  always  ;  "  Is  she  good-looking  ?  " 
and  his  first  thought  when  one  whom  he  knew  happened  to  be 
mentioned  was  always  as  to  whether  she  was  attractive  in 
appearance  or  not.  He  was  one  of  several  of  Colonel  Colqu- 
houn's  brother  officers  who  had  graced  the  wedding.  There 
was  not  much  variety  amongst  them.  They  were  all  excessively 
clean  and  neat  in  appearance,  their  manners  in  society  were 
unexceptionable,  the  morals  of  most  of  them  not  worth  describ 
ing  because  there  was  so  little  of  them  ;  and  their  comments 
to  each  other  on  the  occasion  neither  original  nor  refined  ; 
generations  of  them  had  made  the  same  remarks  under  similar 
circumstances. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  163 

The  bishop  came  in  during  the  little  diversion  caused  by 
handing  tea  and  cake  to  Mrs.  Orton  Beg. 

"Ah,  rjow  do  you  do?"  he  said,  shaking  hands  with  the 
latter.  "  How  is  the  foot  ?  Better  ?  That's  right.  Oh  !  is 
that  you,  Mosley  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  boy  " — here 
they  shook  hands — "  I  did  not  see  you  at  first.  Very  glad 
you've  come,  I'm  sure.  How  is  your  mother  ?  Not  with  your 
regiment,  eh  ?  "  He  peered  at  Sir  Mosley  through  a  pair  of 
very  thick  glasses  he  wore,  and  seemed  to  read  an  answer  to 
each  question  as  he  put  it,  written  on  the  latter's  face. 

"  Will  you  have  some  tea,  dear  ?"  said  Mrs.  Beale. 

'•  Eh,  what  did  you  say,  my  dear  ?  Tea  ?  Yes,  if  you  please. 
That  is  what  I  came  for." 

He  turned  to  the  tea  table  as  he  spoke,  and  stood  over  it 
rubbing  his  hands,  and  beaming  about  him  blandly. 

Sir  Mosley  Menteith  had  been  a  good  deal  at  the  palace  as 
a  youngster.  He  and  Edith  still  called  each  other  by  their 
Christian  names.  The  bishop  had  seen  him  grow  up  from  a 
boy,  and  knew  all  about  him — so  he  would  have  said— although 
he  had  not  seen  much  of  him  and  had  heard  absolutely  noth 
ing  for  several  years. 

"  So  you  are  not  with  your  regiment  ? "  he  repeated  inter 
rogatively. 

"  I  am  just  on  my  way  to  join  it  now,"  the  young  man  an 
swered,  looking  up  at  the  bishop  from  the  chair  near  Edith  on 
which  he  was  again  sitting,  and  giving  the  corners  of  his  littte 
light  moustache  a  twirl  on  either  side  when  he  had  spoken. 
All  his  features,  except  his  eyes,  preserved  an  imperturbable 
gravity  ;  his  lips  moved,  but  without  altering  the  expression 
of  his  face.  His  eyes,  however,  inspected  the  bishop  intelli 
gently  ;  and  always,  when  he  spoke  to  him,  they  rested  on 
some  one  point,  his  vest,  his  gaiters,  his  apron,  the  top  of  his 
bald  head,  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  Dr.  Galbraith,"  the  footman  announced  ;  and  the  doctor 
entered  in  his  easy,  unaffected,  but  somewhat  awkward  way. 
He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  there  was  a  shade  of  weari 
ness  or  depression  on  his  strong  pale  face  ;  but  his  deep  gray 
kindly  eyes — the  redeeming  feature — were  as  sympathetically 
penetrating  as  usual. 

He  shook  hands  with  them  all,  except  Sir  Mosley,  at  whom 
he  just  glanced  sufficiently  long  to  perceive  that  he  was  a 
stranger. 

Mrs,  Beale  named  them  to  each  other,  and  they  both  bowed 


1 64  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S. 

slightly,  looking  at  the  ground,  and  then  they  exchanged 
glances. 

"  Not  much  like  a  medico  if  you  are  one,"  thought  Men- 
teith. 

"  Not  difficult  to  take  your  measure,"  thought  the  doctor ; 
after  which  he  turned  at  once  to  the  tea-table,  like  one  at 
home,  and  stood  there  waiting  for  a  cup.  His  manner  was 
quite  unassuming,  but  he  was  one  of  those  men  of  marked 
individuality  who  change  the  social  atmosphere  of  a  room 
when  they  enter  it.  People  became  aware  of  the  presence  of 
strength  almost  before  they  saw  him  or  heard  him  speak. 
And  he  possessed  that  peculiar  charm,  common  to  Lord 
Dawne  and  others  of  their  set,  which  came  of  giving  the  whole 
of  their  attention  to  the  person  with  whom  they  were  convers 
ing  for  the  moment.  His  eyes  never  wandered,  and  if  liis 
interest  flagged  he  did  not  allow  the  fact  to  become  apparent, 
so  that  he  drew  from  everybody  the  best  that  was  in  them,  and 
people  not  ordinarily  brilliant  were  often  surprised,  on  reflec 
tion,  at  the  amount  of  information  they  had  been  displaying, 
and  the  number  of  ideas  which  had  come  crowding  into  their 
usually  vacant  minds  while  he  talked  with  them. 

He  turned  his  attention  to  Mrs.  Beale  now.  "  I  was  afraid 
I  should  be  late  for  tea,"  he  said.  "I  had  to  turn  back — 
about  something.  I  was  delayed." 

'•  We  were  late  ourselves  this  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Beale. 

Curiously  enough  the  same  cause  had  delayed  them  both, 
for  Dr.  Galbraith,  coming  into  Morningquest  by  the  road  Mrs. 
Beale  had  chosen  for  her  drive  that  day,  had  noticed  the 
insensible  girl  and  her  baby  lying  on  the  footpath,  and  had 
got  down,  lifted  them  into  his  carriage,  and  driven  back  some 
miles  with  them  in  order  to  leave  them  at  the  house  of  one  of 
his  tenants,  a  respectable  widow  whom  he  had  trained  as  a 
nurse,  and  to  whose  kind  care  he  now  jonfided  them  with  strict 
orders  for  their  comfort,  and  the  wherewithal  to  carry  the 
orders  out. 

Dr.  Galbraith  took  his  tea  now  and  cat  down.  He  had 
come  for  a  special  purpose,  and  hastened  to  broach  the  subject 
at  once. 

"  Have  you  decided  where  to  go  this  winter  ? "  he  asked 
Mrs.  Beale.  "  You  will  be  having  another  attack  of  bron 
chitis,  and  then  you  will  not  be  able  to  travel.  It  is  not  safe 
to  put  it  off  too  long." 

His  orders  were  that  she  should  winter  abroad  that  year. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS?  165 

and  Edith  was  to  accompany  her ;  but  they  were  both  reluctant 
to  go  because  of  the  bishop,  whose  duties  obliged  him  to 
remain  behind  alone.  Mrs.  Beale  glanced  at  him  now  affec 
tionately.  He  was  leaning  back  in  a  low  chair,  paunch  pro 
tuberant,  and  little  legs  crossed  ;  and  he  answered  the  look 
with  a  smile  which  was  meant  to  be  encouraging,  but  was  only 
disturbed.  He  was  a  perfect  coward,  this  ruler  of  a  great 
diocese,  in  matters  which  were  of  moment  to  the  health  and 
well-being  of  his  own  family  ;  he  hated  to  have  to  decide  for 
them. 

"  Why  not  come  to  Malta  ?  "  Sir  Mosley  suggested. 

"  That  would  be  nice  for  Evadne,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg 
exclaimed,  her  mind  taking  in  at  a  glance  all  the  advantage 
for  the  latter  of  having  a  companion  of  her  own  age,  and 
without  quirks,  like  Edith,  and  the  womanly  restraining  influ 
ence  of  a  friend  like  dear  old  Mrs.  Beale. 

"What  kind  of  a  place  is  Malta?"  the  bishop  asked  gen 
erally,  tapping  the  edge  of  his  saucer  with  his  teaspoon  ;  then, 
addressing  Dr.  Galbraith  in  particular,  he  added  :  "  Woulc|  it 
be  suitable  ?" 

"  Just  the  thing,"  the  latter  answered.  "  Picturesque,  good 
society,  and  delightful  climate  at  this  time  of  the  year. 
Accessible,  too  ;  you  can  go  directly  by  P.  and  O.,  and'  the 
little  sea  voyage  would  be  good  for  Mrs.  Beale." 

"  It  would  be  nice  to  have  Evadne  there,"  said  Edith,  con 
sidering  the  proposition  favourably.  "I  have  hardly  seen  her 
at  all  since  we  were  both  in  the  nursery." 

"She  was  such  a  quiet  child,"  said  Mrs.  Beale.  "  Unnat 
urally  so  ;  but  they  used  to  say  she  was  clever." 

"  She  is,"  said  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  "decidedly  so,  and  original 
— or,  rather,  advanced.  I  believe  that  is  the  proper  word 
now." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Mrs.  Beale.     "  Is  that  nice  ?  " 

"  Well,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  answered,  smiling,  "  I  cannot  say. 
It  is  not  a  matter  of  law,  you  know,  but  of  opinion.  Evadne 
is  nice,  however  ;  so  much  I  will  venture  to  declare  !  " 

"  She  used  to  be  very  good  to  the  little  Hamilton-Wellses," 
Mrs.  Beale  gave  out  as  a  point  in  her  favour. 

"  Oh — did  you  hear  about  the  Heavenly  Twins  yesterday?  " 
Edith  exclaimed,  addressing  Dr.  Galbraith  :  "  They  came  to 
call  on  papa,  and  he  couldn't  make  out  what  they  wanted. 
He  did  look  so  puzzled  !  and  they  sat  down  and  endeavoured 
to  draw  him  into  a  theological  discussion,  after  having  had 


166  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

a  fight  on  the  floor — the  children,  I  mean,  not  papa,  of 
course !  " 

"  They  always  endeavour  to  adapt  themselves  to  the  people 
with  whom  they  happen  to  be,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith.  "  When 
they  call  upon  me  they  come  primed  with  medical  matters, 
and  discuss  the  present  condition  of  surgical  practice,  and  the 
future  prospects  of  advance  in  that  direction.  And  I  rather 
suspect  that  my  own  books  and  papers  are  the  sources  from 
which  they  derive  their  information.  I  lock  up  my  library  and 
consulting  rooms  now  as  a  rule  when  I  go  out,  but  sometimes 
I  forget  to  shut  the  windows." 

"  They  are  very  singular  little  people,"  said  the  bishop,  with 
his  benign  smile  ;  "  very  singular  !  " 

"  They  are  very  naughty  little  people,  I  think  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Beale. 

Dr.  Galbraith  laughed  as  at  some  ludicrous  reminiscence. 

"  But  will  you  come  to  Malta  ?  "  said  Sir  Mosley.  "  Because 
if  you  will,  and  would  allow  me,  I  could  see  about  making 
arrangements  for  your  accommodation." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  bishop. 

"  But  when  should  we  be  obliged  to  go  ?  "  Mrs.  Beale 
asked,  meaning, <k  How  long  may  we  stay  at  home  ?  " 

"  You  must  go  as  soon  as  possible,"  Dr.  Galbraith  decided 
inexorably. 

And  so  the  matter  was  settled  after  some  little  discussion  of 
details,  during  which  Lady  Adeline  Hamilton-Wells  and  Mrs. 
Frayling  came  in.  The  latter  was  in  Morningquest  for  the 
day  doing  some  shopping.  She  had  lunched  with  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  and  had  come  to  have  tea  with  Mrs.  Beale  ; 
and  she  and  Lady  Adeline  had  encountered  each  other  at  the 
door. 

Mrs.  Frayling  looked  very  well.  She  was  a  wonderfully 
preserved  woman,  and  being  of  an  elastic  temperament,  a  day 
away  from  home  always  sufficed  to  smooth  out  the  wrinkles 
which  her  husband's  peculiar  method  of  loving  and  cherishing 
her  tended  to  confirm.  And  she  was  especially  buoyant  just 
then,  for  it  was  immediately  after  the  Battle  of  the  Letters,  and 
Mr.  Frayling  was  so  meek  in  his  manner,  and  she  felt  alto 
gether  so  free  and  independent,  that  she  had  actually  ventured 
to  come  into  Morningquest  that  day  without  first  humbly  ask 
ing  his  permission.  She  had  just  informed  him  of  her 
intention,  and  walked  out  before  he  cou'd  recover  himself 
sufficiently  to  oppose  it. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWIN*.  167 

Dr.  Galbraith  had  taken  his  leave  when  they  entered  the 
room,  and  only  waited  a  moment  afterward  to  exchange  a 
word  with  Lady  Adeline.  When  he  had  gone,  Sir  Mosley 
asked  the  latter,  who  had  known  him  since  he  was  a  boy,  but 
did  not  love  him,  "Is  that  ugly  man  a  medical  doctor?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  in  her  gentle  but  downright  way,  "  he 
is  a  medical  man,  but  not  an  '  ugly '  man  at  all." 

"Is  Mosley  calling  Dr.  Galbraith  ugly?"  Mrs.  Beale 
exclaimed,  "  Now,  /  think  he  has  the  nicest  face  !  " 

"A  most  good-looking  kind  of  ugliness,"  said  Mrs.  Orton 
Beg. 

Menteith  perceived  that  any  attempt  to  disparage  Dr.  Gal 
braith  in  that  set  was  a  mistake,  and  retired  from  the  position 
cleverly.  "  There  is  a  kind  of  ugliness  which  is  attractive  in 
a  man,"  he  said  with  his  infectious  smile. 

Edith  responded,  and  then  they  drew  apart  from  the  rest, 
and  began  to  talk  to  each  other  exclusively. 

There  was  a  bright  tinge  of  colour  in  her  transparent  cheeks, 
her  eyes  sparkled,  and  a  pleased  perpetual  smile  hovered  about 
her  lips.  The  entrance  of  Sir  Mosley  Menteith  had  changed 
the  unemotional  feminine  atmosphere.  He  was  an  eligible,  and 
his  near  neighbourhood  caused  the  girl's  heart  to  swell  with  a 
sensation  like  enthusiasm.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  be  eloquent, 
but  no  suitable  subject  presented  itself,  and  so  she  said  little. 
She  was  very  glad,  however,  and  she  looked  so  ;  and  naturally 
she  thought  no  more  for  the  moment  of  the  poor  little  French 
girl — who  was  just  then  awaking  to  a  sense  of  pain,  mental 
and  physical,  to  horror  of  the  past,  and  fear  for  the  future, 
and  the  heavy  sense  of  an  existence  marred,  not  by  reason  of 
her  own  weakness  so  much  as  by  the  possession  of  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  qualities  in  human  nature — the  power  to  love 
and  trust. 

"  Is  the  old  swing  still  on  the  elm  ?  "  said  Sir  Mosley. 

"  Yes,"  Edith  answered.  "  Not  exactly  the  same  rope,  you 
know  ;  but  we  keep  a  swing  there  always." 

"  Who  uses  it  now  ?  " 

"Children  who  come  to  see  us,"  she  said.  "And  some 
times  I  sit  in  it  myself  !  "  she  added  laughing. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  it  again,"  he  said. 

"  Come  and  see  it  then,"  she  answered,  rising  as  she  spoke. 
"  Mosley  wants  to  see  the  old  swing,"  she  said  to  her  mother 
as  they  left  the  room  together. 

"What  a  nice  looking  young  man,"  Mrs.  Frayling observed. 


1 68  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  His  head  is  too  small,"  Lady  Adeline  said.  "  Has  he 
anything  in  him  ?  " 

"  Oh — yes.  Well,  good  average  abilities,  I  should  say," 
Mrs.  Beale  rejoined.  "  Too  much  ability,  you  know,  is  rather 
dangerous.  Men  with  many  ideas  so  often  get  into  mischief." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Frayling  ;  "  and  it  is  worse  with 
women.  When  they  have  ideas,  as  my  husband  was  saying 
only  this  morning,  they  become  quite  outrageous — new  ideas, 
of  course  I  mean,  you  know." 

"  He  seems  to  admire  Edith  very  much,"  Mrs.  Orton  Beg 
observed. 

Mrs.  Beale  smiled  complacently. 

Edith  sat  long  in  her  room  that  night  on  the  seat  of  the 
window  that  faced  the  east.  She  had  taken  off  her  evening 
dress  and  put  on  her  white  flannel  wrapper.  The  soft  material 
draped  itself  to  her  figure,  and  fell  in  heavy  folds  to  her  feet. 
Her  beautiful  hair,  which  was  arranged  for  the  night  in  one 
great  plait  with  the  ends  loose,  hung  down  to  the  ground  beside 
her. 

The  moon  was  high  in  the  heavens,  but  not  visible  from 
where  she  sat.  Its  light,  however,  flooded  the  open  spaces  of 
the  garden  beneath  her,  and  cast  great  shadows  of  the  trees 
across  the  lawn.  The  sombre  afternoon  had  cleared  to  a  frosty 
night,  and  the  deep  indigo  sky  was  sparsely  sprinkled  with 
brilliant  stars. 

Edith  looked  out.  She  saw  the  stars,  and  the  earth  with 
its  heavy  shadows,  and  the  wavering  outlines  of  the  trees  and 
shrubs,  and  felt  a  kinship  with  them. 

She  was  very  happy,  but  she  did  not  think.  She  did  not 
want  to  think.  When  any  obtrusive  thought  presented  itself 
she  instantly  strove  to  banish  it,  and  at  first  she  succeeded. 
She  wanted  to  recall  the  pleasurable  sensations  of  the  day, 
and  to  prolong  them. 

The  last  sixteen  hours  seemed  longer  in  the  retrospect  than 
any  other  measure  of  time  with  which  she  had  been  acquainted. 
She  felt  as  if  the  terrible  dream  from  which  she  had  awakened 
that  morning  in  affright  had  happened  in  some  other  state  of 
being  which  ended  abruptly  while  she  was  pacing  the  shady 
walks  of  the  old  palace  garden  with  Mosley  Menteith  in  the 
afternoon,  and  was  now  only  to  be  vaguely  recalled.  Some 
great  change  in  herself  had  taken  place  since  then  ;  she  would 
not  define  it ;  she  imagined  she  could  not ;  but  she  knew 
what  it  was  all  the  same,  and  rejoiced. 


TffE  HEAVENLY  TWlttS.  169 

They  were  going  to  Malta. 

The  feeling  resolved  itself  into  that  clear  idea  inevitably ; 
and  after  a  little  pause  it  was  followed  by  the  question  : 
"Well,  and  what  then?" 

But  either  her  mind  refused  to  receive  the  reply,  or  else  in 
the  Book  of  Fate  the  answer  was  still  unwritten,  for  none 
came  to  her  consciousness. 

Turning  at  last  from  the  window,  she  found  the  eyes  of  the 
Good  Shepherd  in  the  picture  fixed  upon  her,  the  beautiful 
benign  eyes  she  loved  so  well ;  and  looking  up  at  him  respon- 
sively,  she  waited  a  moment  for  her  heart  to  expand  anew,  and 
then  set  herself  to  meditate  upon  his  life.  It  was  a  religious 
exercise  she  had  taught  herself,  not  knowing  that  the  Roman 
Catholics  practise  it  as  a  duty  always.  She  thought  of  him 
first  as  the  dear  Lord  who  died  for  her,  and  her  heart  awoke 
trembling  with  joy  and  fear  at  the  realization  of  the  glorious 
deed.  His  tenderness  came  upon  her,  and  she  bowed  her 
head  to  receive  it.  Her  ears  were  straining  as  it  were  to  hear 
the  sweetness  of  his  voice.  She  sank  on  her  knees  before  his 
image  to  be  the  nearer  to  him  while  she  dwelt  on  the  mystery 
of  his  divine  patience,  and  felt  herself  filled  with  the  serene 
intensity  of  his  holy  love.  She  recalled  the  faultless  grace 
and  beauty  of  his  person,  and  revelled  in  the  thought  of  it,  till 
suddenly  a  deep  and  sensuous  glow  of  delight  in  him  flooded 
her  being,  and  her  very  soul  was  faint  for  him.  She  called 
him  by  name  caressingly  :  "  Dear  Lord  !  "  She  confessed  her 
passionate  attachment  to  him.  She  implored  him  to  look  upon 
her  lovingly.  She  offered  him  the  devotion  of  her  life.  And 
then  she  sank  into  a  perfect  stupor  of  ecstatic  contemplation. 
This  was  the  way  she  worshipped,  dwelling  on  the  charms  of 
his  person  and  character  with  the  same  senses  that  her  delicate 
maiden  mind  still  shrank  from  devoting  to  an  earthly  lover ; 
calling  him  what  she  would  have  had  her  husband  be : 
"  Master  !  " — the  woman's  ideal  of  perfect  bliss  :  "  A  strong 
support!"  "A  sure  refuge!" — praying  him  to  strengthen 
her,  to  make  her  wise,  to  keep  her  pure  ;  to  help,  to  guide,  to 
comfort  her!  and  finding  in  each  repetition  of  familiar 
phrases  the  luxurious  gladness  of  a  great  enthusiasm. 

But  these  emotional  excesses  were  not  to  be  indulged  in 
with  impunity.  When  Edith  arose  from  her  knees,  she  had 
already  begun  to  suffer  the  punishment  of  a  chilling  reaction. 
The  love-light  faded  from  her  face.  The  glow  of  ecstatic 
passion  was  extinguished  in  her  heart.  The  festal  robes  of 


17$  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

enraptured  feeling  feh  from  her  consciousness  and  were 
replaced  by  the  rags  of  unwelcome  recollections.  She  thought 
of  the  poor  delicate  little  French  girl  lying  by  the  wayside 
exhausted,  and  longed  to  know  if  she  were  at  that  moment 
sheltering  in  the  workhouse,  and  rested  and  restored.  She 
wondered  what  it  was  like  to  be  in  the  workhouse — alone — 
without  a  single  friend  to  speak  kindly  to  her ;  but  the  bare 
thought  of  such  a  position  made  her  shudder.  If  only  she 
could  have  befriended  that  poor  creature  and  her  little  child  ? 
The  sweet  maternal  instinct  of  her  own  being  set  up  a  yearn 
ing  which  softened  her  heart  the  more  tenderly  toward  the 
mother  because  of  the  child.  She  did  so  wish  that  she  could 
have  done  something  for  both  of  them,  and  then  she  recol 
lected  her  horrible  dream,  and  began  involuntarily  to  piece  the 
vision  of  the  morning  to  the  incident  of  the  afternoon  in  order 
to  find  some  faint  foreshadowing  for  her  guidance  of  the  one 
event  in  the  other.  Next  day,  she  persuaded  her  mother  to 
send  to  the  workhouse  directly  after  breakfast  to  ask  if  the 
girl  had  been  taken  in,  and  how  she  was.  Edwards,  the  old 
footman,  could  have  told  his  mistress  the  girl's  whole  history, 
and  she  knew  him  also  to  be  an  honest  man,  of  simple  speech, 
not  given  to  exaggerate  ;  but  she  scented  something  "  un 
pleasant  "  in  the  whole  affair,  and  she  would  have  looked 
coldly  for  the  rest  of  her  life  on  anyone  as  being  a  suspicious 
character,  who  had  ventured  to  suggest  that  she  should  make 
herself  acquainted  with  the  details  of  such  a  case.  She  con- 
sidered  that  any  inquiries  of  that  kind  would  have  been 
improper  to  the  last  degree. 

She  sent  Edwards  to  the  workhouse,  however,  to  know  if 
the  girl  had  been  found  ;  and  when  he  brought  back  word 
that  she  had  not,  although  the  most  careful  search  for  her  had 
been  made  in  the  neighbourhood,  Mrs.  Beale  concluded  that 
she  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  continue  her  weary  tramp, 
and  very  gladly  dismissed  the  whole  matter  from  her  mind. 


END   OF   BOOK   L 


BOOK  II. 


A  MALTESE  MISCELLANY. 


Death  itself  to  the  reflecting  mind  is  less  serious  than  marriage.  The 
elder  plant  is  cut  down  that  the  younger  may  have  room  to  flourish  ;  a  few 
tears  drop  into  the  loosened  soil,  and  buds  and  blossoms  spring  over  it. 
Death  is  not  a  blow,  is  not  even  a  pulsation  ;  it  is  a  pause.  But  marriage 
unrolls  the  awful  lot  of  numberless  generations.  Health,  genius,  honour 
are  the  words  inscribed  on  some  ;  on  others  are  disease,  fatuity,  and  infamy. 
—  Walter  Savage  Landort 

The  great  leading  idea  is  quite  new  to  me,  viz. ,  that  during  late  ages  the 
mind  will  have  been  modified  more  than  the  body  ;  yet  I  had  not  got  as  far 
as  to  see  with  you,  that  the  struggle  between  the  races  of  man  depended 
entirely  on  intellectual  and  moral  qualities. — Darwin:  Letter  to  A.  £. 
Wallace. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MEANWHILE  the  Colquhouns  at  Malta  had  been  steadily 
making  each  other's  acquaintance. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  had  met  Evadne  on  board  the  steamer 
on  her  arrival,  and  had  found  her  enchanted  by  her  first 
glimpse  of  the  place,  and  too  girlishly  glad  in  the  excitement 
of  change,  the  bustle  and  movement  and  novelty,  to  give 
a  thought  to  anything  else.  The  healthy  young  of  the  human 
race  have  a  large  capacity  for  enjoyment,  and  they  have  also 
the  happy  knack  of  banishing  all  thought  which  threatens  to  be 
an  interruption  to  pleasurable  sensation.  When  a  thing  was 
once  settled  it  was  Evadne's  disposition  to  have  done  with  it, 
and  since  she  had  come  to  satisfactory  terms  with  Colonel 
Colquhoun  and  recovered  from  the  immediate  effects  of  the 
painful  contest,  the  matter  had  not  troubled  her.  She  had 
perfect  confidence  in  his  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman,  and 
was  prepared  to  find  it  no  more  awkward  to  live  in  his  house 
and  have  him  for  an  occasional  companion,  than  it  would  to 
be  a  guest  of  good  position  in  any  other  establishment. 

His  own  attitude  was  that  of  a  kind  of  pleased  curiosity. 
He  considered  their  bargain  a  thing  to  be  carried  out  to  the 
letter  so  long  as  she  held  him  to  it,  like  a  debt  of  honour,  not 
legally  binding  but  morally,  and  he  was  prepared,  with  gentle 
manly  tack,  to  keep  faith  without  further  discussion  of  the 
subject.  The  arrangement  did  not  trouble  him  at  all.  It  was 
original,  and  therefore  somewhat  piquant,  and  so  was  Evadne. 

They  met  therefore  without  more  than  a  momentary  em 
barrassment,  and  his  first  glimpse  of  her  fresh  young  face, 
flushed  with  excitement,  and  full  of  intelligent  interest  and  of 
unaffected  pleasure  in  everything,  was  an  unexpected  revela 
tion  of  yet  another  facet  of  her  manifold  nature,  and  a  bright 
one  too.  What  a  pity  she  had  "views  "  !  But  there  was  al 
ways  a  hope  the  determination  to  live  up  to  them  was  merely 
an  infantile  disease  of  which  society  would  soon  cure  her. 
Society  has  views  too.  It  believes  all  it  hears  in  the  churches 
without  feeling  at  all  bound  to  practise  any  inconvenient  pre 
cept  implied  in  the  faith. 


174  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  had  gone  out  on  a  government  steam 
launch  to  meet  the  mail  as  soon  as  she  was  signalled,  and  find 
ing  Evadne  on  deck  had  remained  there  with  her  watching 
the  wonderful  panorama  of  the  place  gradually  unfolding  it 
self.  He  showed  her  the  various  points  of  interest  as  they  came 
along,  and  she  smiled  silent  acknowledgments  of  the  courtesy. 

The  sun  was  just  dispelling  the  diaphanous  mists  of  early 
morning,  making  them  hang  luminous  a  moment  and  then  dis 
perse,  like  tinted  gauze  that  flutters  slowly  upward  in  a  breeze 
and  vanishes.  Great  white  clouds,  foam-like  and  crisp,  piled 
themselves  up  fantastically  and  floated  off  also,  leaving  the  deep 
blue  vault  to  mirror  itself  in  the  answering  azure  of  the  sea ; 
the  eternal  calm  above,  awful  in  its  intensity  of  stillness;  the 
ceaseless  movement  below,  a  type  of  life,  throbbing,  murmur 
ous,  changeful,  more  interesting  than  awe-inspiring,  more  to 
be  wondered  at  than  revered. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  pointed  out  the  lighthouses  of  St.  Elmo, 
patron  saint  of  sailors,  on  the  right,  and  Ricasoli  on  the  left. 
Then  they  were  met  by  a  rainbow  fleet  of  dghaisas,  gorgeous 
in  colour,  and  propelled  by  oarsmen  who  stood  to  their  work, 
and  were  also  brightly  clad — both  boats  and  boatmen,  clothed 
by  the  sun,  as  it  were,  having  blossomed  into  colour  uncon 
sciously  as  the  flowers  do  in  genial  atmospheres.  The 
boats,  carrying  fruits,  flowers,  tobacco,  cheap  jewellery,  and 
coarse  clothing  for  sailors,  each  cargo  adding  something  of 
picturesqueness  to  the  scene,  formed  a  gay  flotilla  about  the 
steamer  and  accompanied  her,  she  towering  majestically  above 
them,  and  appearing  to  attract  them  and  hold  them  to  her 
sides  as  a  great  cork  in  the  water  does  a  handful  of  chopped 
straw.  The  boatman  held  up  their  wares,  chattering  and 
gesticulating,  their  sun-embrowned  faces  all  animation  and 
changeful  as  children's.  One  moment  they  would  be  smiling 
up  and  speaking  in  wheedling  tones  to  the  passengers,  and  the 
next  they  would  be  frowning  round  at  each  other,  and  resent 
ing  some  offence  with  torrents  of  abuse.  So  the  mail  glided 
into  the  Grand  Harbour,  Evadne  wondering  at  the  fortifica 
tions,  and  straining  her  eyes  to  make  out  somewhat  of  the 
symbols,  alternate  eye  and  ear,  carved  on  the  old  watch  tower 
of  St.  Angelo  ;  noticing,  too,  the  sharp  outline  of  everything 
in  the  pellucid  atmosphere,  and  feeling  herself  suddenly  aglow 
with  warmth  and  colour,  a  part  of  the  marvellous  beauty  and 
brightness,  and  uplifted  in  spirit  out  of  the  everyday  world 
above  all  thought  and  care  into  regions  of  the  purest  pleasure. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  175 

"  What  a  lovely  place  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  looks  like  a 
great  irregular  enchanted  palace  !  " 

"  It's  very  jolly,"  said  Colonel  Colquhoun,  smiling  upon  the 
scene  complacently,  and  looking  as  important  as  if  he  were 
himself  responsible  for  the  whole  arrangement,  but  was  too 
magnanimous  to  mention  the  fact.  "  I  thought  you'd  like  it. 
But  wait  till  you  see  it  by  moonlight!  We'll  come  off  and 
dine  with  one  of  the  naval  fellows  some  night.  I'm  sure 
you'll  be  delighted.  It's  just  like  a  photograph." 

Evadne  found  that  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  secured  a  good 
house  for  her,  and  had  bestowed  much  care  upon  the  arrange 
ment  of  it.  It  was  the  kind  of  occupation  in  which  he 
delighted,  and  he  did  it  well.  He  showed  Evadne  over  the 
house  himself  as  soon  as  she  arrived,  and  what  struck  her  as 
most  delightful  were  the  flowers  and  foliage  plants  'which 
decorated  every  available  corner,  and  nearly  all  growing; 
oranges  and  oleanders  in  great  tubs,  and  palms  and  ferns  in 
oriental  china  stands  and  in  Majolica  vases. 

"  One  only  sees  it  so  for  a  ball  at  home,"  she  said  ;  "  or 
some  other  special  occasion." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly  a  moment.  Her  face  was  serenely 
content. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  kind  of  a  special  occasion  with  me,"  he 
said  rather  gloomily. 

He  went  on  as  he  spoke,  Evadne  following  him  from  room 
to  room,  pleased  with  everything,  and  looking  it;  which  is  a 
much  more  convincing  token  of  appreciation  than  the  best 
chosen  words. 

But  when  they  came  to  the  rooms  which  were  to  be  hers, 
she  was  quite  overcome.  For  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  chosen 
two  opening  into  each  other,  as  nearly  as  possible  like  those 
she  had  occupied  at  Fraylingay,  and  had  filled  them  with  all 
the  beloved  possessions,  books,  pictures,  and  ornaments,  which 
she  had  left  behind  her. 

"  How  good  you  are  !  How  very  good  you  are  ! "  she 
exclaimed  impulsively.  "  I  hope  we  shall  be  friends." 

"  Oh,  we  shall  be  friends,"  he  answered  with  affected  care 
lessness,  but  really  well  pleased.  "  I  thought  you  would  settle 
better  if  you  had  your  own  pet  things  to  begin  with.  I  had  a 
great  fight  with  your  father  about  the  books.  He  said  you'd 
got  all  your  nonsense  out  of  them,  but  I  suggested  that  it 
might  be  a  case  of  a  little  learning  being  a  dangerous  thing, 
so  I  captured  all  the  old  ones,  and  I've  got  a  lot  more  for 


I76  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

you;  see,  here's  Zola  and  Daudet  complete,  and  George  Sand, 
You'll  like  them  better,  I  fancy,  when  you  get  into  them  than 
Herbert  Spencer  and  Francis  Galton.  But  I've  got  you  some 
more  of  their  books  as  well — all  that  you  hadn't  got." 

"  You  are  really  too  good,"  said  Evadne. 

Getting  her  the  books  was  like  putting  butter  on  the  paws 
of  a  strange  cat  to  make  it  settle.  She  sat  down  beside  them 
and  began  to  take  off  her  gloves  at  once.  Colonel  Colquhoun 
smiled  beneath  his  blond  moustache,  then,  pleading  regi 
mental  duty,  left  her  to  her  treasures,  assuring  himself  as  he 
went  that  he  really  did  know  women,  exceptional  or  otherwise. 

He  had  arranged  the  books  himself,  placing  Zola  and  Dau 
det  in  prominent  positions,  and  anticipating  much  entertain 
ment  from  the  observation  of  their  effect  upon  her.  He 
expected  that  she  would  end  by  making  love  to  him;  in  which 
case  he  promised  himself  the  pleasure  of  paying  her  off  by 
acting  for  a  time  after  the  manner  proposed  by  the  Barber's 
Fifth  Brother. 

When  they  met  again,  Evadne  had  read  her  mother's  letter, 
and  she  at  once  took  him  into  her  confidence  about  it. 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  should  write  to  the  papers,"  he  answered  gravely,  as  if 
he  meant  it. 

He  did  not  at  all  understand  the  strong,  simple,  earnest 
nature,  incapable  of  flippancy,  with  which  he  had  to  deal, 
nor  appreciate  the  danger  of  playing  with  it ;  and  he  never 
dreamt  that  she  would  seriously  consider  the  suggestion. 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  my  father  should  continue  to 
feel  vexed  about  this  arrangement  of  ours,"  she  said  seriously. 
"  We  do  not  interfere  with  his  domestic  affairs,  why  should  he 
meddle  with  ours  ?  It  is  not  at  all  his  business  ;  do  you  think 
it  is  ?"  This  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  arrangement  was 
as  satisfactory  to  him  as  it  was  to  her,  and  appealing  to  him 
in  good  faith  against  himself  and  his  own  interests  as  it  were, 
touched  Colonel  Colquhoun's  sense  of  the  ludicrous  pleasur- 
ably.  It  was  always  the  unexpected  apparently  that  was  likely 
to  happen  with  Evadne,  and  he  appreciated  the  charm  of  the 
unexpected,  and  began  to  believe  he  should  find  more  enter 
tainment  at  home  than  he  had  thought  possible  even  at  the 
outset  of  his  matrimonial  venture,  when  all  appeared  most 
promising.  He  got  on  very  well  with  her  father,  but,  never 
theless,  when  it  had  at  last  dawned  upon  him  that  she  was 
taking  his  suggestion  about  writing  to  the  papers  seriously,  it 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  177 

jumped  with  his  peculiar  sense  of  humour — which  had  never 
developed  beyond  the  stage  into  which  it  had  blossomed  in 
his  subaltern  days — to  egg  her  on  "  to  draw  "  the  testy  old 
gentleman  by  threats  of  publicity.  It  was  his  masculine  mind, 
therefore,  that  was  really  responsible  for  her  "  unnatural " 
action  in  that  matter.  In  bygone  days  when  there  was  any 
mischief  afoot  the  principle  used  to  be,  chercher  la  femme,  and 
when  she  was  found  the  investigation  stopped  there  ;  but 
modern  methods  of  inquiry  are  unsatisfied  with  this  imperfect 
search,  and  insist  upon  looking  behind  the  woman,  when  lo, 
invariably,  there  appears  a  skulking  creature  of  the  opposite 
sex  who  is  not  ashamed  to  be  concealed  by  the  petticoats  gen. 
erously  spread  out  to  screen  him.  While  the  world  approves 
man  struts  and  crows,  taking  all  the  credit ;  but,  when  there 
is  blame  about,  he  whines,  street-arab  fashion  :  "  It  wasn't 
'me.  Cherchez  la  femme. " 

CHAPTER  II. 

MRS.  BEALE  and  Edith  arrived  in  Malta  almost  immedi 
ately  after  Evadne  herself,  and  it  so  happened  that  the 
latter,  when  she  went  with  Colonel  Colquhoun  to  call  upon 
them,  met  for  the  first  time  in  their  drawing  room  most  of  the 
people  to  whom  she  was  to  become  really  attached  during  her 
sojourn  in  Malta.  There  were  Mrs.  Sillenger,  wife  of  the 
colonel  of  one  of  the  other  regiments  stationed  on  the  island; 
Mrs.  Malcomson,  also  the  wife  of  a  military  man  ;  the  Rev. 
Basil  St.  John,  a  man  of  good  family,  pronounced  refinement, 
and  ultra-ritualistic  practices ;  and  Mr.  Austin  B.  Price,  a 
distinguished  American  diplomatist  and  man  of  letters,  to 
whom  she  became  specially  attached.  Mrs.  Beale  and  Edith 
also  were  from  that  time  forward  two  of  her  dearest  and  most 
valued  friends.  She  looked  very  charming  on  the  occasion  of 
that  first  visit. 

Mrs.  Beale  received  her  with  quite  effusive  kindliness.  She 
had  promised  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  to  be  a  mother  to  her,  and  had 
been  building  a  little  aerial  castle  wherein  she  saw  herself 
installed  as  principal  adviser,  comforter,  confidential  friend, 
and  invaluable  help  generally  under  certain  circumstances  of 
peculiar  trial  and  happy  interest  to  which  young  wives  are 
subject. 

Evadne  and  Edith  looked  at  each  other  with  a  kind  of 
pleased  surprise. 


I7»  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  How  tall  you  have  grown  !  "  said  Evadne. 

"  And  how  young  you  are  to  be  married  ! "  Edith  rejoined. 
"  I  was  so  glad  when  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  told  us  you  were  here. 
That  was  one  of  the  reasons  which  decided  us  to  come,  I  think." 

"  I  hope  we  shall  see  a  good  deal  of  each  other,"  said 
Evadne. 

"  That  would  be  delightful,"  Edith  answered.  Then  sud 
denly  she  blushed.  She  had  recognized  someone  who  had 
just  entered  the  room,  and  Evadne,  narrowing  her  eyes  to  see 
who  it  was,  recognized  him  as  Sir  Mosley  Menteith,  a  captain 
in  the  Colquhoun  Highlanders,  whose  acquaintance  she  had 
made  the  day  before,  when  he  called  upon  her  for  the  first 
time.  He  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Beale  and  stood  talking  to 
her,  looking  down  at  her  intently,  until  someone  else  claimed 
her  attention.  Then  he  turned  away,  rested  the  back  of  his 
left  hand,  in  which  he  was  holding  his  hat,  on  his  haunch, 
fixed  an  eyeglass  in  his  eye,  and  looked  round  with  an  ex 
pression  of  great  gravity,  twirling  first  one  end  and  then  the 
other  of  his  little  light  moustache  slowly  as  he  did  so.  He 
was  extremely  spic-and-span  in  appearance,  and  wore  light- 
coloured  kid  gloves.  The  room  was  pretty  full  by  that  time, 
and  he  seemed  to  have  some  little  difficulty  in  finding  the  per 
son  whom  he  sought,  but  at  last  he  made  out  Edith  and 
Evadne  sitting  together,  and  going  over  to  them,  greeted  them 
both,  and  then  took  a  vacant  chair  beside  them.  He  began  by 
inspecting  first  one  and  then  the  other  carefully  in  turn,  as  if 
he  were  comparing  them  point  by  point,  uttering  little  remarks 
the  while  of  so  thin  and  weak  a  nature  that  Evadne  had  to 
make  quite  an  effort  to  grasp  them.  She  had  thawed  under 
the  influence  of  Edith's  warm  frank  cordiality,  but  now  she 
froze  again  suddenly,  and  began  to  have  disagreeable  thoughts. 
She  noticed  something  repellent  about  the  expression  of  Sir 
Mosley's  mouth.  She  acknowleged  that  his  nose  was  good, 
but  his  eyes  were  small,  peery,  and  too  close  together,  and  his 
head  shelved  backward  like  an  ape's.  She  could  not  have 
kept  up  a  conversation  with  him  had  she  wished  to,  but  she 
preferred  to  withdraw  herself  and  let  him  monopolize  Edith. 

"  I  like  you  best  in  blue,"  Sir  Mosley  was  saying.  "  Will 
you  wear  blue  at  our  dance  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  !"  Edith  rejoined  archly,  smiling  up  at  him  with 
lips  and  eyes.  "  I  have  worn  nothing  but  blue  lately.  I  shall 
soon  be  known  as  the  blue  girl !  I  must  have  a  change.  Gray 
and  pink  are  evidently  your  colours,  Evadne  !  " 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  1 79 

Evadne  looked  down  at  her  draperies  as  a  polite  intimation 
that  she  had  heard.  But  just  then  her  attention  was  diverted 
by  the  conversation  of  two  ladies  and  a  gentleman,  who  were 
sitting  together  in  a  window  on  her  right.  The  gentleman 
was  Mr.  St.  John,  the  ritualistic  divine,  whose  clean-shaven 
face,  with  its  firm,  well-disciplined  mouth,  finely  formed  nose 
with  sensitive  nostrils,  and  deep-set  kindly  dark  eyes,  attracted 
her  at  once.  He  was  very  fragile  in  appearance,  and  had  a 
troublesome  cough. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Malcomson  !  "  he  was  saying,  "  I  should  be  very 
sorry  to  see  the  old  exquisite  ideal  of  womanhood  disturbed 
by  these  new  notions.  What  can  be  more  admirable,  more  ele 
vating  to  contemplate,  more  powerful  as  an  example,  than  her 
beautiful  submission  to  the  hardships  of  her  lot?  " 

"  Or  less  effectual — seeing  that  no  good,  but  rather  the  con 
trary  has  come  of  it  all  !  "  Mrs.  Malcomson  answered.  "  That 
is  the  poetry  of  the  pulpit ;  and  the  logic  too,  I  may  add,"  she 
said,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  luxuriously.  "  For  what  could 
be  less  effectual  for  good  than  the  influence  has  been  of  those 
women,  poor  wingless  creatures  of  the  *  Sphere,'  whose  ideal 
of  duty  rises  no  higher  than  silent  abject  submission  to  all  the 
worst  vices  we  know  to  be  inseparable  from  the  unchecked 
habitual  possession  of  despotic  authority  ?  What  do  you  say, 
Mrs.  Sillenger  ? " 

The  other  lady  smiled  agreement.  She  was  older  than  Mrs. 
Malcomson,  and  otherwise  presented  a  contrast  to  the  latter, 
being  taller,  slighter,  with  a  prettier,  sweeter,  and  altogether 
more  womanly  face,  as  some  people  said.  A  stranger  might 
have  thought  that  she  had  less  character  too,  but  that  was  not 
the  case.  She  suffered  neither  from  weakness  nor  want  of 
decision  ;  but  her  manner  was  more  diffident,  and  she  said 
less. 

Mrs.  Malcomson  belonged  to  a  somewhat  different  order  of 
being.  She  had  a  strong  and  handsome  face  with  regular 
features  ;  a  proud  mouth,  slightly  sarcastic  in  expression  ; 
and  dark  gray  eyes  given  to  glow  with  fiery  enthusiasm.  Her 
hair  was  dark  brown,  but  showed  those  shades  of  red  in  cer 
tain  lights  which  betoken  an  energetic  temperament,  and  good 
staying  power.  It  was  crisp,  and  broke  into  little  natural 
cur\s  on  her  forehead  and  neck,  or  wherever  it  could  escape 
from  bondage  ;  but  she  had  not  much  of  it,  and  it  was  usually 
rather  picturesque  than  tidy.  Mrs.  Sillenger's,  on  the  contrary, 
was  straight  and  luxuriant,  and  always  neat.  It  had  been  light 


180  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

golden-brown  in  her  youth,  but  was  somewhat  faded.  Mrs. 
Malcomson  spoke  as  well  as  she  looked,  the  resonant  tones  of 
her  rich  contralto  voice  pleasing  the  ear  more  than  her  opin 
ions  startled  the  understanding.  She  owed  half  her  success 
in  life  to  the  careful  management  of  her  voice.  By  simple 
modulations  of  it  she  could  always  differ  from  an  opponent 
without  giving  personal  offence,  and  she  seldom  provoked 
bitter  opposition  because  nothing  she  said  ever  sounded  ag 
gressive.  If  she  had  not  been  a  good  woman  she  would  have 
been-  a  dangerous  one,  since  she  could  please  eye  and  ear 
at  will,  a  knack  which  obtains  more  concessions  from  the 
average  man  than  the  best  chosen  arguments. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  your  *  poetry  of  the  pulpit '  is  very 
mischievous,"  she  pursued.  "  You  have  pleased  our  senses 
with  it  for  ages.  You  have  flattered  us  into  in  action  by  it, 
and  used  it  as  a  means  to  stimulate  our  vanity  and  indo 
lence  by  extolling  a  helpless  condition  under  the  pompous 
title  of  '  beautiful  patient  submission.'  You  have  adminis 
tered  soothing  sedatives  of '  spiritual  consolation,'  as  you  call 
it,  under  the  baleful  influence  of  which  we  have  existed  with 
all  our  highest  faculties  dulled  and  drugged.  You  have 
curtailed  our  grand  power  to  resist  evil  by  narrowing  us  down 
to  what  you  call  the  *  Woman's  Sphere,'  wherein  you  insist  that 
we  shall  be  unconditional  slaves  of  man,  doing  always  and  only 
such  things  as  shall  suit  his  pleasure  and  convenience. 

"  Ah,  but  when  you  remember  that  the  law  which  man 
delivers  to  woman  he  receives  direct  from  God,  you  must 
confess  that  that  alters  the  whole  aspect  of  the  argument,"  Mr. 
St.  John  deprecated. 

"  I  confess  that  it  would  alter  it  if  it  were  true,"  Mrs.  Mal 
comson  replied.  "  But  it  is  not  true.  Man  does  not  deliver 
the  law  of  God  to  us,  but  the  law  of  his  own  inclinations. 
And  by  assuming  to  himself  the  right,  among  other  things,  of 
undisputed  authority  over  us,  he  has  held  the  best  half  of  the 
conscience  of  the  race  in  abeyance  until  now,  and  so  checked 
the  general  progress;  he  has  confirmed  himself  in  his  own 
worst  vices,  arrogance,  egotism,  injustice,  and  greed,  and  has 
developed  the  worst  in  us  also,  among  which  I  class  that  tend 
ency  to  sycophantic  adulation,  which  is  an  effort  of  nature  to 
secure  the  necessaries  of  life  for  ourselves." 

"  But  women  generally  do  not  think  that  any  change  for  the 
better  is  necessary  in  their  position.  They  are  satisfied,"  Mr. 
St.  John  observed,  smiling. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  181 

"Women  generally  are  fools,"  Mrs.  Malcomson  ruefully 
confessed.  "  And  the  '  women  generally  '  to  whom  you  allude 
as  being  satisfied  are  the  women  well  off  in  this  world's  goods 
themselves,  who  don't  think  for  others.  The  first  symptom  of 
deep  thought  in  a  woman  is  dissatisfaction." 

"  I  wonder  men  like  yourself,  Mr.  St.  John,"  Mrs.  Sillenger 
began  in  her  quiet  diffident  way,  "continue  so  prejudiced  on 
this  subject.  How  you  could  help  on  the  moral  progress  of 
the  world,  if  only  you  would  forget  the  sweet  soporific  'poetry 
of  the  pulpit,'  as  Mrs.  Malcomson  calls  it,  and  learn  to  think 
of  us  women,  not  as  angels  or  beasts  of  burden — the  two  ex 
tremes  between  which  you  wander — but  as  human  beings " 

"  Oh  ! "  he  protested,  interrupting  her,  "  I  hope  I  have  not 
made  you  imagine  that  I  do  not  recognize  certain  grave  in- 
justices  to  which  women  are  at  present  subject.  Those  I  as 
earnestly  hope  to  see  remedied  as  you  do.  But  what  I  do 
think  objectionable  is  the  way  in  which  women  are  putting 
themselves  forward " 

"  You  are  right  there,"  said  Mrs.  Sillenger.  "  I  think  my 
self  that  men  might  be  allowed  to  continue  to  monopolize  the 
right  of  impudent  self-assertion." 

"  But  do  not  lend  yourself  to  the  silencing  system  any 
longer,  Mr.  St.  John,"  Mrs.  Malcomson  implored.  "  The  silent 
acquiescence  of  women  in  an  iniquitous  state  of  things  is 
merely  an  indication  of  the  sensual  apathy  to  which  your 
ruinous  *  poetry  of  the  pulpit '  has  reduced  the  greater  number 
of  us." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  !  "  Evadne  exclaimed ;  then 
stopped,  colouring  crimson.  She  had  forgotten  in  her  interest 
that  she  was  a  stranger  to  these  people  ;  and  only  remembered 
it  when  they  all  looked  at  her — rather  blankly,  as  she  imagined. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  addressing  Mrs.  Malcomson. 
"  I  could  not  help  overhearing  the  discussion,  and  I  am  deeply 
interested.  I  am — Mrs.  Colquhoun,"  she  broke  off,  covered 
with  confusion. 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  Mrs. 
Malcomson  said  warmly.  "  I  called  on  you  to-day  on  my  way 
here,  but  you  were  out." 

"  And  so  did  I,"  said  Mrs.  Sillenger. 

"  And  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  very  soon,"  Mr.  St.  John 
added,  bowing. 

Mrs.  Beale  joined  the  group  just  then. 

"  You  have  been  talking  so  merrily  in  this  corner,"  she  said, 


1 82  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

sitting  down  on  a  high  chair  as  she  spoke,  "  I  have  been 
wondering  what  it  was  all  about  !  " 

"  Woman's  Rights!"  Mrs.  Malcomson  uttered  in  deeply 
tragic  tones. 

"  Woman's  Rights !  Oh,  dear  me,  how  dreadful  !  "  Mrs. 
Beale  exclaimed  comfortably.  "  I  won't  hear  a  word  on  the 
subject." 

"  Not  on  the  subject  of  cooking  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Malcomson. 

"  What  has  cooking  to  do  with  it  ?  "  Mrs.  Beale  asked. 

"Why,  everything!"  Mrs.  Malcomson  answered,  smiling. 
"  If  only  Mr.  St.  John  and  a  few  other  very  good  men  would 
stand  up  in  their  pulpits  boldly  and  assure  those  who  dread  in 
novation  that  their  food  will  be  the  better  cooked,  and  the 
'  Sphere  '  itself  will  roll  along  all  the  more  smoothly  for  the 
changes  we  find  necessary  ;  there  would  be  an  end  of  their 
opposition.  I  would  not  promise  women  cooks,  for  I  really 
think  myself  that  the  men  are  superior,  they  put  so  much  more 
feeling  into  it.  And  I  can  never,  understand  why  they  do  not 
quarrel  with  us  for  the  possession  of  that  department.  I  am 
sure  we  are  quite  ready  to  resign  it  !  and  really,  when  one 
comes  to  think  of  it,  it  is  obvious  that  the  kitchen  is  much 
more  the  man's  sphere  than  the  woman's,  for  it  is  there  that 
his  heart  is  !  " 

"You  beguile  me,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Beale  said,  smiling; 
"  but  I  will  not  listen  to  your  wicked  railleries."  She  looked 
at  Mrs.  Sillenger.  "  I  came  to  ask  you  if  you  would  be  so 
kind  as  to  play  us  something,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Sillinger  was  a  perfect  musician  ;  and  as  Evadne 
listened,  her  heart  expanded.  When  the  music  ceased,  she 
looked  up  and  about  her  blankly  like  one  who  is  bewildered 
by  the  sudden  discovery  of  an  unexpected  loss  ;  and  with  that 
expression  still  upon  her  face  she  met  the  bright,  penetrating, 
kindly  eye  of  a  small  thin  elderly  gentleman  with  refined  fea 
tures,  a  wrinkled  forehead,  and  thick  gray  hair,  who  was  look 
ing  at  her  so  fixedly  from  the  other  side  of  the  room  that  at 
first  her  own  glance  fell  ;  but  the  next  moment  she  felt  an 
irresistible  impulse  to  look  at  him  again.  The  attraction  was 
mutual.  He  got  up  at  once  from  the  low  ottoman  on  which 
he  was  sitting,  and  came  across  to  her  ;  and  she  welcomed  his 
approach  with  a  smile. 

"  Excuse  the  liberty  of  an  old  man  who  has  not  been  intro 
duced,"  he  said.  "You  are  Mrs.  Colquhoun,  I  know,  and  my 
name  is  Price.  I  am  an  American,  and  I  came  to  Europe  on 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  183 

official  business  for  my  country  first  of  all  ;  but  I  am  now 
travelling  for  my  own  pleasure." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  Evadne 
answered. 

Before  they  could  say  another  word  to  each  other,  however, 
there  was  a  general  move  of  guests  departing,  and  Colonel 
Colquhoun  came  to  carry  her  off.  She  held  out  her  hand  to 
Mr.  Price.  "  We  shall  meet  again  ?  "  she  said. 

"  With  your  permission,  I  will  call,"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.  ST.  JOHN  and  Mr.  Price  were  staying  at  the  same 
hotel,  and  they  walked  back  to  it  together.  They  had 
only  just  made  each  other's  acquaintance,  and  were  feeling 
the'attraction  which  there  is  in  a  common  object  pursued  by 
the  most  dissimilar  means.  They  were  both  humanitarians, 
Mr.  Price  by  choice  and  of  set  purpose,  Mr.  St.  John  of  neces 
sity — seeing  that  he  was  a  good  man,  but  unconsciously,  the 
consequence  being  much  confusion  of  mind  on  the  subject, 
and  a  wide  difference  between  his  words  and  his  deeds.  He 
preached,  for  instance,  the  degrading  doctrine  that  we  ought 
to  be  miserable  in  this  world,  that  all  our  wonderful  powers 
of  enjoyment  were  only  given  to  us  to  be  suppressed;  and 
further  blasphemed  our  sacred  humanity  by  maintaining  that 
we  are  born  in  sin,  and  sinners  we  must  remain,  fight  as  we 
will  to  release  ourselves  from  that  bondage;  but  yet  his  whole 
life  was  spent  in  trying  to  make  his  fellow-creatures  better, 
and  the  world  itself  a  pleasanter  place  to  live  in.  The  means 
which  he  employed,  however,  was  the  old  anodyne :  "  Believe 
the  best  " — that  is  to  say,  "  Cultivate  agreeable  feelings." 
Mr.  Price's  motto,  on  the  other  hand,  was :  "  Know  the 
worst."  The  foe  must  be  known,  must  be  recognized,  must 
be  met  and  fought  in  the  open  if  he  is  to  be  subdued  at  all. 

This  was  the  difference  which  drew  the  two  together;  each 
felt  the  deepest  interest  in  the  point  where  the  other  diverged, 
and  yearned  to  convert  him  to  his  own  way  of  thought.  Mr. 
Price  would  have  had  the  clergyman  know  the  world;  Mr.  St. 
John  would  have  taught  Mr.  Price  to  ignore  it,  "  to  look  up  !  " 
as  he  called  it,  or,  in  other  words,  to  sit  and  sigh  for  heaven 
while  the  heathen  raged,  and  the  wicked  went  their  way  here 
undisturbed — although  he  had  not  realized  up  to  the  present 


1 84  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

that  that  was  practically  what  his  system  amounted  to.  He 
belonged  by  birth  to  the  caste  which  is  vowed  to  the  policy  of 
ignoring,  and  was  as  sensitive  as  a  woman  about  delicate 
matters.  Nationally,  Mr.  Price  was  the  Englishman's  son,  and 
had  advanced  a  generation.  Men  are  what  women  choose  to 
make  them.  Mr.  St.  John's  mother  was  the  best  kind  of 
woman  of  the  old  order,  Mr.  Price  was  the  product  of  the  new; 
and  the  two  were  typical  representatives  of  the  chivalry  of  the 
past,  high-minded,  ill-informed,  unforeseeing — and  the  chivalry 
of  the  present,  which  reaches  on  always  into  futurity  with  the 
long  arm  of  knowledge,  not  deceiving  itself  with  romantic 
misrepresentations  of  things  by  the  way,  but  fully  recognizing 
what  is  wrong  from  the  outset,  and  making  direct  for  the  root 
of  the  evil  instead  of  contenting  itself  by  lopping  a  branch 
here  and  there. 

"  I  think  you  said  you  were  going  to  winter  here  ? "  Mr. 
Price  remarked,  as  they  stepped  into  the  street. 

"Yes — if  the  place  suits  me,"  Mr.  St.  John  answered;  "and 
so  far, — that  is  to  say  for  the  last  month, — it  has  done  so  very 
well.  Are  you  a  resident?" 

"  Well,  no,  not  exactly,"  the  old  gentleman  answered.;  "but 
I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  coming  here  for  years." 

"It  is  an  interesting  place,"  said  Mr.  St.  John,  "teeming 
with  historical  associations." 

"  Yes,  it  is  an  interesting  place,"  Mr.  Price  agreed,  making 
a  little  pause  before  he  added — "  full  of  food  for  reflection. 
Life  at  large  is  represented  at  Malta  during  the  winter  season, 
and  in  a  little  place  like  this  humanity  is  under  the  microscope 
as  it  were,  which  makes  it  a  happy  hunting  ground  for  those 
who  have  to  know  the  world." 

"Ah!"  Mr.  St.  John  ejaculated  deliberately.  "I  should 
think  there  are  some  very  nice  people  here." 

"Yes — and  some  very  nasty  ones,"  Mr.  Price  rejoined. 
"  But,  of  course,  one  must  know  both." 

"Oh,  I  differ  from  you  there!"  Mr.  St.  John  answered, 
smiling.  "Walk  not  in  sinners'  way,  you  know  !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  should  say,"  Mr.  Price  rejoined,  smiling 
responsively,  and  twitching  his  nose  as  if  a  gnat  had  tickled  it; 
"  but  I  allow  you  have  got  to  have  a  good  excuse  when  you 
do." 

Mr.  St.  John  smiled  again  slightly,  but  said  nothing. 

"  There  were  elephants  once  in  IVlalta,  I  am  told,"  he 
began  after  a  little  pause,  changing  the  subject  adroitly  "but 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  185 

they  dwindled  down  from  the  size  which  makes  them  so  useful 
by  way  of  comparison,  till  they  were  no  bigger  than  Shetland 
ponies,  before  they  finally  became  extinct." 

"And  there  is  a  set  in  society  on  the  island  now,"  Mr.  Price 
pursued,  "  formed  of  representatives  of  old  English  houses 
that  once  brought  men  of  notable  size  and  virile  into  the  world, 
but  are  now  only  equal  to  the  production  of  curious  survivals, 
tending  surely  to  extinction  like  the  elephant,  and  by  an 
analogous  process." 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Mr.  St.  John,  as  they  arrived  at  their 
place  of  abode.  "  Will  you  come  to  my  room  and  smoke  a 
cigarette  with  me  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  1  don't  smoke,  but  I'll  go  to  your  room,  and 
seejy0&  smoke  one,  with  pleasure,"  Mr.  Price  responded. 

When  they  got  to  Mr.  St.  John's  room,  the  latter  took  off 
his  clerical  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  put  on  a  coloured  smoking 
jacket,  which  had  the  curious  effect  of  transforming  him  from 
an  ascetic  looking  High  Churchman  into  what,  from  his 
refined,  intellectual,  clean-shaven  face,  and  rather  long  straight 
hair,  most  people  would  have  mistaken  for  an  actor  suffering 
from  overwork. 

Having  provided  Mr.  Price  with  a  comfortable  seat  in  the 
window,  which  was  open,  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  drew  up  an 
other  easy-chair,  and  stretched  himself  out  in  it  luxuriously. 
He  was  easily  fatigued  at  that  time,  and  the  rest  and  quiet 
were  grateful  after  the  talk  and  crowd  at  Mrs.  Beale's.  There 
was  a  little  wooden  balcony  outside  his  window,  full  of  flowers 
and  foliage  plants;  and  from  where  he  sat  he  saw  the  people 
passing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  below,  and  could 
also  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  Mediterranean,  appearing  between 
the  yellow  houses  at  the  end  of  the  street,  intensely  blue,  and 
sparkling  in  the  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun.  It  was  altogether 
a  soothing  scene;  and  had  he  been  alone  he  would  have 
sunk  into  that  state  of  intellectual  apathy  which  is  so  often 
miscalled  contemplative.  The  homely  duties  of  hospitality, 
however,  compelled  him  to  exert  himself  for  the  entertainment 
of  his  guest.  Several  of  the  people  they  had  just  met  at  Mrs. 
Beale's  went  past  together,  laughing  and  talking,  and  0  propos 
of  this  he  remarked,  "  It's  a  bright  little  world." 

"Yes,  on  the  smoothly  smiling  surface  of  society,  I  allow 
it's  bright,"  Mr.  Price  rejoined.  "The  surface,  however,  15 
but  a  small  part  of  it." 

Mr.  St.  John  took  a  whiff  of  his  cigarette. 


186  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  Do  you  see  that  man?"  Mr.  Price  pursued,  indicating  a 
man  below  the  middle  height,  with  broad  shoulders,  a  black 
beard  and  moustache  streaked  with  brown,  a  ruddy  com 
plexion,  and  obtrusively  blue  eyes,  who  was  passing  at  the 
moment. 

"  Captain  Belliot,  of  H.  M.  S.  Abomination"  Mr.  St.  John 
answered,  using  the  ship's  nickname,  and  holding  out  his 
cigarette  between  his  finger  and  thumb  as  he  spoke,  his  fluent 
patrician  English  losing  in  significance  what  it  gained  in 
melody  compared  with  the  slow  dry  staccato  intonation  of  the 
American. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Mr.  Price  rejoined.  "  Now,  he  is  one  of  the 
survivals  I  just  now  mentioned — a  typical  specimen." 

"  I  rather  like  the  man,"  Mr.  St.  John  answered.  "  He  isn't 
a  friend  of  mine,  but  he's  pleasant  enough  to  meet." 

"  Just  so,"  Mr.  Price  rejoined.  "  The  manners  of  the  kind 
are  agreeable — on  the  surface.  One  must  give  the  devil  his 
due.  But  on  closer  acquaintance  you  won't  find  that  their 
general  characteristics  are  exactly  pleasant.  Their  minds  are 
hopelessly  tainted  with  exhalations  from  the  literary  sewer 
which  streams  from  France  throughout  the  world,  and  their 
habits  are  not  nicer  than  their  books. 

"  Ah,  well, "said  Mr.  St.  John,  whose  sensitive  lip  had  curled 
in  dislike  of  the  subject, "  it  is  never  too  late  to  mend.  I 
believe,  too,  that  the  evil  is  exaggerated.  But  at  all  events 
they  repent  and  marry,  and  become  respectable  men  eventu 
ally." 

"  Well,  yes,  sir,  they  marry  as  a  rule,"  Mr.  Price  rejoined  ; 
"  and  that's  the  worst  of  it." 

Mr.  St.  John  held  his  cigarette  poised  in  the  air  on  the  way 
to  his  mouth,  and  looked  at  him  interrogatively. 

"  Will  what  you  call  repentance  restore  a  rotten  constitu 
tion  ?"  Mr.  Price  responded.  "  Will  it  prevent  a  drunkard's 
children  from  being  weakly  vicious  ?  or  the  daughters  of  a 
licentious  man  from  being  foredoomed  to  destruction  by  an 
inherited  appetite  for  the  vices  which  you  seem  to  flatter  your- 
self  end  in  effect  when  they  are  repented  of  ?  You  do  not 
take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  the  once  vicious  man 
becomes  the  father  of  vicious  children  and  the  grandfather  of 
criminals.  You  persuade  women  to  marry  these  men.  The 
arrangement  is  perfect.  Man's  safety,  and  man's  pleasure  ; 
if  there  is  any  sin  in  it,  damn  the  woman.  She's  weak  ;  she 
Can't  retaliate," 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  187 

Mr.  St.  John's  cigarette  went  out.     He  had  begun  to  think. 

"  These  are  horrors  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  But  I  know,  thank 
Heaven,  that  the  right  feeling  of  the  community  is  against  the 
perpetration  of  them." 

"  That's  so,"  said  the  American.  "  Unfortunately,  it  is  not 
with  the  right  feeling  of  the  community,  but  with  the  wrong 
feeling  of  individuals,  that  women  have  to  deal." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  women  should  ever  know  anything 
about  it  !  " 

"  I  say  so  too,"  said  Mr.  Price.  *«  At  present,  however, 
Heaven  permits  them  by  the  thousand  to  make  painful  per 
sonal  acquaintance  with  the  subject.  And  I  assure  you,  sir, 
that  the  indignation  which  has  long  been  simmering  in  whis 
pers  over  tea  tables  in  the  seclusion  of  scented  boudoirs, 
amongst  those  same  delicate  dames  whom  you  have  it  in  your 
mind  to  keep  in  ignorance  ©f  the  source  of  most  of  their  suf 
ferings,  mental  and  physical,  is  fast  approaching  the  boiling 
point  of  rebellion." 

"  Do  you  know  this  for  a  fact  ?" 

"  I  do.  And  the  time  is  at  hand,  I  think,  for  a  thorough 
ventilation  of  the  subject.  It  is  the  question  of  all  others 
which  must  either  be  ignored  until  society  is  disintegrated  by 
the  licence  that  attitude  allows,  or  considered  openly  and  seri 
ously.  That  is  why  I  mentioned  it.  I  see  in  you  every  incli 
nation  to  help  and  defend  the  suffering  sex,  and  every  quality 
except  the  habit  of  handling  facts.  The  subject's  repulsive 
enough,  I  allow.  Right-minded  people  shrink  in  disgust  even 
from  what  is  their  obvious  duty  in  the  matter,  and  shirk  it 
upon  various  pretexts,  visiting  their  own  pain — like  Betsey  Trot- 
wood,  when  she  boxed  the  ears  of  the  doctor's  boy — upon  the 
most  boxable  person  they  can  reach,  and  that  is  generally  the 
one  who  has  forced  their  attention  to  it." 

There  was  a  pause  after  this,  then  the  clergyman  observed  : 
:<  One  knows  that  there  are  sores  which  must  be  exposed  to 
view  if  they  are  to  be  prescribed  for  at  all  or  treated  with  any 
chance  of  success." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  just  it,"  Mr.  Price  exclaimed.  "You  will 
perceive,  if  you  reflect  for  a  moment,  that  there  must  have  been 
a  good  deal  that  was  disagreeable  in  the  cleansing  of  the 
Augean  stables  to  which  people  in  the  neighbourhood  would 
certainly  and  very  naturally  object  at  the  time  ;  but  it  has 
since  been  pretty  generally  conceded  that  the  undertaking  was 
a  very  good  sanitary  measure  nevertheless  ;  and  had  Hercules 


1 88  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

lived  in  our  day,  and  survived  the  shower  of  stones  with  which 
he  was  sure  to  have  been  encouraged  during  his  conduct  of 
the  business,  we  should  doubtless  have  given  him  a  dinner,  or 
in  the  other  case,  an  epitaph  at  least.  But  there  is  work  for 
the  strong  man  still.  The  Augean  stable  of  our  modern  civiliza 
tion  must  be  cleansed,  and  it  is  a  more  difficult  task  than  the 
other  was,  and  one  to  put  him  on  his  mettle  and  win  him  great 
renown  because  it  is  held  to  be  impossible." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  at  Mr.  St.  John  with  con 
cern,  as  the  latter  struggled  with  a  bad  fit  of  coughing. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  talked  too  much  for  your  strength,"  he 
added. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Mr.  St.  John  answered  as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 
"On  the  contrary,  I  assure  you.  You  have  taken  me  out  of 
myself,  and  that  is  always  good.  Must  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  must,  thank  you.     Don't  rise." 

But  Mr.  St.  John  had  risen,  and  was  surprised  to  find  him 
self  towering  over  the  little  gentleman  as  they  shook  hands — 
a  feeling  which  recurred  to  him  always  afterward  when  they 
met,  there  being  about  Mr.  Price  the  something  that  makes  the 
impression  of  size  and  strength  and  courage  which  is  usually 
only  associated  with  physical  force. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

NEXT  day  there  was  an  afternoon  dance  on  board  Captain 
Belliot's  ship,  H.  M.  S.  Abomination — facetiously  so-called 
for  no  particular  reason  ;  and  Evadne  was  there  with  ColoneJ 
Colquhonn.  She  was  dressed  in  white,  heavily  trimmed  with 
gold,  and,  being  a  bride,  was  an  object  of  special  attention 
and  interest.  It  was  the  first  entertainment  of  the  kind  she 
had  appeared  at  since  her  arrival,  and,  not  having  a  scrap  of 
morbid  sentiment  about  her,  she  was  prepared  to  enjoy  it 
thoroughly,  but  in  her  own  way,  of  course,  which,  as  she  was 
new  to  the  place  and  the  people,  would  naturally  be  a  very 
quiet  observant  way. 

Captain  Belliot  received  her  when  she  came  on  board,  and 
they  shook  hands. 

She  was  taller  than  he  was,  and  looking  down  at  him  while 
in  the  act,  noticed  the  streaks  of  brown  in  his  black  beard, 
his  brick-red  skin,  tight  as  a  gooseberry's,  and  his  obtrusively 
blue  eyes. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWIN '£  i&9 

"  Queen's  weather  !  "  he  remarked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  looking  out  at  the  sparkling  water. 

"  It's  a  pretty  place,"  he  continued. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed,  glancing  toward  the  shore,  but  seeing 
only  with  the  mind's  eye.  Her  pupils  dilated,  however,  as  she 
recalled  the  way  she  had  come,  the  narrow  picturesque  steep 
streets,  almost  all  stone-steps,  well  worn  ;  with  high  irregular 
houses  on  either  side,  yellow,  with  green  wooden  verandas 
jutting  out  ;  the  wharf  on  which  they  had  waited  a  moment 
for  the  man-of-war's  boat  to  take  them  off,  and  the  Maltese 
ruffians  with  their  brown  faces  and  brightly  coloured  clothing, 
lying  idly  about  in  the  sun,  or  chattering  together  at  the  top 
of  their  voices  in  little  groups.  They  had  seemed  to  look  at 
her,  too,  with  friendly  eyes.  And  she  saw  the  sapphire  sea 
which  parted  in  dazzling  white  foam  from  the  prow  of  the  boat 
as  they  came  along,  saw  the  steady  sweep  of  the  oars  rising 
and  falling  rhythmically,  the  flash  of  the  blades  in  the  sunshine, 
the  well-disciplined  faces  of  the  men  who  looked  at  her  shyly, 
but  with  the  same  look  which  she  took  to  be  friendly  ;  and 
their  smart  uniforms.  She  would  liked  to  have  shaken  hands 
with  them  all.  And  there  was  more  still  in  her  mind  when 
Captain  Belliot  asked  her  if  she  thought  the  place  "  pretty," 
yet  all  she  found  for  answer  was  the  one  word,  "  Yes"  ;  and 
he,  being  no  physiognomist,  rashly  concluded  that  was  all  she 
had  in  her. 

"  Do  you  dance  ? "  he  proceeded,  making  one  more  effort 
to  induce  her  to  entertain  him. 

**  Not  in  the  afternoon,"  she  said. 

Sir  Mosley  Menteith  tried  next. 

"You  come  from  Morningquest,  do  you  not?"  he  asked, 
looking  into  her  eyes. 

"  My  people  live  near  Morningquest,"  she  answered. 

"  Ah,  then  I  suppose  you  know  everybody  there,"  he  ob 
served,  looking  hard  at  her  brooch. 

She  reflected  a  moment,  then  answered  deliberately  :  "  Not 
by  any  means,  I  should  think.  It  is  a  large  neighbourhood." 

He  twisted  each  side  of  his  little  light  moustache,  and 
changed  the  subject,  inspecting  her  figure  as  he  did  so. 

"  Do  you  ride  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  she  noticed  a  suspicion  of 
powder  on  his  face,  and  he  felt  dissatisfied  because  she  didn't 
seem  to  be  going  to  entertain  him. 


I  go  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

The  band  struck  up  a  waltz. 

"  Do  you  dance  ?"  he  said,  looking  down  from  her  face  to 
her  feet. 

"  Not  in  the  afternoon,"  she  answered. 

The  dance  had  begun,  and  a  pair  came  whirling  down 
toward  them. 

Evadne  moved  back  to  be  out  of  the  way,  and  Menteith, 
looking  round  for  a  partner,  saw  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  oppo 
site  smiling  at  him. 

He  went  over  to  her. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  make  of  the  bride  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Her  conversation  is  not  exactly  animated,"  he  answered, 
looking  into  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's  face  intently. 

She  was  a  round,  flat-faced,  high-hipped,  high-shouldered 
woman,  short  in  the  body,  and  tight-laced  ;  and  she  had  a 
trick  of  wagging  her  skirts  and  perking  at  a  man  when  talk 
ing  to  him. 

She  did  so  now,  nodding  and  smiling  in  a  way  that  made 
her  speech  piquant  with  the  suggestion  that  she  thought  or 
knew  a  great  deal  more  than  she  meant  to  say. 

"  You  have  made  her  acquaintance,  I  suppose  ?"  Menteith 
added. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered.  "  Her  husband  is  an  old  friend 
of  ours,  you  know,  so  Bobbie  thought  we  ought  to  call  at 
once." 

The  tone  in  which  she  spoke  suggested  that  she  and  "  Bob 
bie  "  merely  meant  to  tolerate  Mrs.  Colquhoun  for  her  hus 
band's  sake.  "  Bobbie"  was  Major  Guthrie  Brimston,  a  very 
useful  little  man  to  his  wife  by  way  of  reference.  When 
she  wanted  to  say  a  smart  thing  which  might  or  might  not  be 
considered  objectionable,  according  to  the  taste  of  the  person 
she  addressed — and  she  very  often  did — she  always  presented 
it  as  a  quotation  from  him.  "  Bobbie  thinks,"  she  added  now, 
"  that  if  there  were  an  Order  of  the  Silent  Sewing  Machine, 
Mrs.  Colquhoun  would  be  sure  to  be  a  distinguished  member 
of  it." 

A  Royal  personage  whom  Evadne  had  met  at  home  recog 
nized  her  at  this  moment,  and  shook  hands  with  her  with 
somewhat  effusive  cordiality,  making  a  remark  to  which  she 
responded  quietly. 

"  She  seems  to  be  a  pretty  self-possessed  young  woman,  too," 
Menteith  observed.  "Her  composure  is  perfect." 

"Ah!"    Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  ejaculated;  "those  stupid 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  191 

people  have  no  nerves  !  Now,  /  should  shake  all  over  in  such 
a  position  ! " 

The  band  played  the  next  few  bars  hard  and  fast,  the 
dancers  whirled  like  teetotums,  then  stopped  with  the  final 
crash  of  the  instruments,  and  separated,  scattering  the  groups 
of  onlookers,  who  re-arranged  themselves  into  new  combina 
tions  immediately.  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  leaned  against  the 
bulwarks.  Colonel  Beston,  of  the  Artillery,  and  Colonel  Coiqu- 
houn  joined  her,  also  her  Bobbie,  and  Menteith  remained. 
The  conversation  was  animated.  Evadne,  having  moved, 
could  now  hear  every  word  of  it,  and  thought  it  extremely 
stupid.  It  was  all  what  "  he  said"  and  "she  said";  what 
they  ought  to  have  said,  and  what  they  really  meant.  Mrs. 
Guthrie  Brimston  made  some  cutting  remarks.  She  talked  to 
all  the  men  at  once,  and  they  appeared  to  appreciate  her  sal 
lies  ;  but  their  own  replies  were  vapid.  She  seemed  to  be 
the  only  one  of  the  party  with  any  wit.  Mrs.  Beston  joined 
her.  She  was  a  little  dark  woman  with  a  patient  anxious  face, 
and  eyes  that  wandered  incessantly  till  she  discovered  her 
husband  with  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston.  Evadne  surprised  the 
glance — entreating,  reproachful,  loving,  helpless — what  was  it  ? 
The  look  of  a  woman  who  finds  it  a  relief  to  know  the  worst. 
Evadne's  heart  began  to  contract ;  the  girlish  gladness  went 
out  of  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Beale  and  Edith  arrived  and  joined  her,  and  Menteith 
came  and  attached  himself  to  them  at  once. 

"  You  have  put  on  the  blue  frock,"  he  said  softly  to  Edith, 
looking  down  at  her  with  animal  eyes  and  a  flush  partly  of 
gratified  vanity  on  his  face. 

Edith  smiled  and  blushed.  She  could  not  reason  about 
him.  Her  wits  had  forsaken  her. 

"  That's  a  case,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston. 
Several  more  men  had  joined  her  by  this  time,  and  they  all 
looked  across  at  Edith  and  Menteith.  Half  the  men  on  the 
island  took  their  opinions,  especially  of  the  women,  from  Mrs. 
Guthrie  Brimston.  She  was  forever  lowering  her  own  sex  in 
their  estimation,  and  they,  with  sheep-like  docility,  bowed  to 
her  dictates,  and  never  dreamt  of  judging  for  themselves. 

Mr.  Price  persuaded  Mr.  St.  John  to  come  and  look  on  at 
the  dance.  They  were  leaning  now  against  the  bulwarks 
beside  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston,  who  tried  to  absorb  them  into 
her  circle,  but  found  them  heavy.  Mr.  Price  despised  her, 
and  Mr.  St.  John  was  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts.  He 


192  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

had  passed  the  night  in  painful  reflection,  and  when  he  arose 
in  the  morning  he  was  more  than  half  convinced  that  Mr. 
Price  had  not  exaggerated  ;  but  now,  with  the  smiling  surface 
of  society  under  observation,  and  his  senses  both  soothed  and 
exhilarated  by  the  animated  scene  and  the  lively  music,  he 
could  not  believe  it.  He  had  thought  for  the  moment  that 
the  old  American  minister  was  a  strong  and  disinterested 
philanthropist,  but  now  he  saw  in  him  only  the  victim  of  a 
diseased  imagination.  The  habit  of  seeing  society  through  a 
haze  of  feeling  as  it  should  be  was  older  than  the  American's 
entreaties  that  he  should  learn  to  know  it  as  it  is,  and  he 
deliberately  chose  to  be  unconvinced. 

"  The  person  is  casting  covetous  eyes  at  the  bishop's  pretty 
ewe  lamb,"  Colonel  Beston  observed  to  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston 
sotto  voce. 

A  kind  of  bower  had  been  made  of  the  stern  sheets  by 
screening  them  off  from  the  main  deck  with  an  awning,  and 
from  out  of  this  a  lady,  a  young  widow,  stepped  just  at  this 
moment,  followed  by  a  young  man.  They  had  been  out  of 
sight  together,  innocently  occupied  leaning  over,  watching  the 
fish  darting  about  down  in  the  depths  of  the  transparent 
water.  The  moment  they  appeared,  however,  the  men  about 
Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  exchanged  glances  of  unmistakable 
significance,  and  the  young  widow,  perceiving  this,  flushed 
crimson  with  indignation. 

"  Guilty  conscience  !  "  Major  Guthrie  Brimston  remarked 
upon  this,  with  a  chuckle. 

Mr.  St.  John  had  witnessed  the  incident  and  overheard  the 
remark,  and  the  import  of  both  forced  itself  upon  his  attention. 
Mr.  Price's  words  recurred  to  him  :  "  You  are  right,"  he 
remarked.  "  They  are  gross  of  nature,  these  people.  The 
animal  in  them  predominates — at  present.  But  the  spiiitual, 
the  immortal  part,  is  there  too.  It  must  be.  It  has  not  been 
cultivated,  and  therefore  it  is  undeveloped.  We  should  direct 
our  whole  energies  to  the  cultivation  of  it.  It  is  a  serious 
subject  for  thought  and  prayer." 

Mr.  Price  twitched  his  nose,  and  studied  the  physiognomies 
about  him  :  "  I  doubt  myself  if  the  spiritual  nature  has  been  as 
generally  diffused  as  you  seem  to  imagine,"  he  remarked  in  his 
crisp,  dry  way.  "  But  if  the  germ  of  it  is  anywhere  it  is  in  the 
women.  Help  them  out  of  their  difficulties,  and  you  will  help 
the  world  at  large.  Now,  there  is  one  " — indicating  Evadne, 
who  was  sitting  in  the  same  place  still,  quietly  observant. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  193 

"  I  was  looking  at  her,"  Mr.  St.  John  broke  in.  "  She  seems 
to  me  to  be  one  of  those  sensitive  creatures,  affected  by  sun 
and  wind  and  rain,  and  all  atmospheric  influences,  to  their  joy 
or  sorrow,  who  will  suffer  a  martyrdom  in  secret  with  beautiful 
womanly  endurance." 

"  And  be  very  much  to  blame  for  it !  "  Mr.  Price  interrupted. 
"  That  is  your  idea  of  her  character  ?  Now  mine  is  different. 
I  should  say  that  she  is  a  being  so  nicely  balanced,  so  human, 
that  ejther  senses  or  intellect  might  be  tipped  up  by  the  frac 
tion  of  an  ounce.  Which  is  right,  surely  ;  since  the  senses  are 
instrumental  in  sustaining  nature,  while  the  intellect  helps  it  to 
perfection.  And  as  to  her  beautiful  womanly  endurance  " — 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  turned  the  palms  of  his  hands 
upward — "I  don't  know,  of  course;  but  lam  no  judge  of 
character  if  she  does  not  prove  to  be  one  of  the  new  women, 
who  are  just  appearing  among  us,  with  a  higher  ideal  of  duty 
than  any  which  men  have  constructed  for  women.  I  expect 
she  will  be  ready  to  resent  as  an  insult  every  attempt  to  impose 
unnecessary  suffering  either  upon  herself  or  her  sex  at  large." 

"  Well,  I  hope  she  will  not  become  a  contentious  woman," 
Mr.  St.  John  said.  "The  way  in  which  women  are  putting 
themselves  forward  just  now  on  any  subject  which  happens  to 
attract  their  attention  is  quite  deplorable,  I  think  ;  and  push 
ing  themselves  into  the  professions,  too,  and  entering  into 
rivalry  with  men  generally  ;  you  must  confess  that  all  that  is 
unwomanly." 

"  It  seems  to  me  to  depend  entirely  upon  how  it  is  done," 
Mr.  Price  answered  judicially.  "And  I  deny  the  rivalry.  All 
that  women  ask  is  to  be  allowed  to  earn  their  bread  honestly  ; 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  majority  of  men  would  rather 
see  them  on  the  streets."  The  old  gentleman  stopped,  and 
compressed  his  lips  into  a  sort  of  smile.  "  I  can  see,"  he  said, 
**  that  you  are  dissenting  from  every  word  I  say  ;  but  I  am  not 
disheartened.  I  feel  sure  that  the  scales  will  fall  from  your 
eyes  some  day,  and  then  you  will  look  back,  and  see  clearly 
for  yourself  the  way  in  which  all  moral  progress  has  been 
checked  for  ages  by  the  criminal  repression  of  women." 

"  Repression  of  women  !  "  exclaimed  Captain  Belliot,  who 
caught  the  words  just  as  the  band  stopped — "  Good  Lord  !  I 
beg  your  pardon,  St.  John — but  it's  a  subject  I  feel  very 
strongly  upon.  It's  impossible  to  tell  what  the  devil  women 
will  be  at  next.  Why,  I  went  into  a  hotel  in  Devonport  for  a 
brandy  and  soda  just  before  I  sailed,  and  I  happened  to 


194  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

remark  to  a  fellow  that  was  with  me  that  something  was  '  a 
damned  nuisance ' ;  and  the  barmaid  leant  over  the  counter  : 
4  A  shilling,  sir,'  she  said,  with  the  coolest  cheek  in  the  world. 
*  What  for  ? '  I  demanded.  *  A  fine,  sir,  for  swearing,'  she 
answered,  with  the  most  perfect  assurance.  *  Now,  look  here, 
young  woman,'  I  said,  'you  just  shut  up,  for  I'm  not  going  to 
stand  any  of  your  damned  nonsense.'  '  Two  shillings,  sir,'  she 
said,  in  just  the  same  tone.  I  wanted  to  argue  the  question, 
but  she  wouldn't  say  a  word  more.  She  just  sent  for  the  pro 
prietor,  and  he  said  it  was  his  wife's  orders.  She  wouldn't 
have  any  female  in  her  service  insulted  by  bad  language,  and 
that  fellow,  the  proprietor,  actually  supported  his  wife.  What 
do  you  think  of  that  for  petticoat  government?  He  made 
me  pay  up  too,  by  Jove  !  I  was  obliged  to  do  it  to  save  a  row. 
Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  sign  of  the  times  ?  " 

Mr.  Price  twitched  his  nose,  and  looked  at  Mr.  St.  John. 

"  Some  signs  of  the  times  are  hopeful,  certainly,"  the  latter 
said  enigmatically. 

"  What !  talking  seriously  in  these  our  hours  of  ease  ? " 
Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  broke  in.  "What  is  it  all  about  ?" 

"I  was  just  about  to  remark  that  I  like  a  woman  to  be  a 
woman,"  Captain  Belliot  rejoined,  ogling  the  lady,  and  with 
the  general  air  of  being  sure  that  she  at  least  could  have  no 
higher  ambition  than  to  attain  to  his  ideal.  "  These  bold 
creatures  who  put  themselves  forward,  as  so  many  of  them  do 
nowadays,  are  highly  antipathetic  to  me  ;  and  if  you  saw 
them  !  the  most  awful  old  harridans — with  voices  ! — '  Shriek 
ing  sisterhood  '  doesn't  half  come  up  to  it !  " 

Mrs.  Malcomson  passed  at  that  moment. 

"  Should  you  call  her  an  old  harridan  ?  "  Mr.  St.  John 
asked,  smiling  involuntarily. 

"  No,"  the  naval  man  was  obliged  to  confess  ;  "  she's  deuced 
handsome  ;  but  she  presumes  on  her  good  looks,  and  doesn't 
trouble  herself  to  be  agreeable.  I  took  her  in  to  dinner  the 
other  night,  and  could  hardly  get  a  word  out  of  her — not  that 
she  can't  talk,  mind  you  ;  she  just  wouldn't — to  pique  my  inter 
est,  you  know.  You  may  take  your  oath  that  was  it.  There's 
no  being  up  to  women.  But  she'll  find  herself  stranded,  if  she 
doesn't  take  care.  /  shan't  bother  myself  to  pay  her  any  more 
attention  ;  and  I'm  a  bad  prophet  if  the  other  men  in  the  place 
go  out  of  their  way  to  be  civil  to  her  much  longer  either. 
Besides,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Price,  lowering  his  voice,  but  not 
enough  to  prevent  Mr.  St.  John  hearing — "  her  husband's 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS.  195 

jealous  !  "  He  turned  up  his  eyes — "  Game's  not  worth — you 
know  !  " 

Again  Mr.  Price  looked  at  Mr.  St.  John.  The  band  struck 
up  ;  another  waltz  began  ;  scarcely  anything  else  had  been 
danced. 

"  Oh,  this  eternal  one,  two,  three  !  "  Mr.  Price  ejaculated  ; 
"  how  it  wearies  the  mind  !  Society  has  sacrificed  its  most 
varied,  wholesome,  and  graceful  recreation — dancing — to  this 
monotonous  one,  two,  three  !  " 

He  passed  on,  leaving  Mr.  St.  John  to  his  reflections. 

Captain  Belliot  bent  before  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  ;  "  Our 
dance,  I  think,"  he  said,  offering  her  his  arm. 

She  took  it,  perking  and  preening  herself,  and  began  to  say 
something  about  Mrs.  Malcomson  in  agreement  with  his  last 
remark  :  "  You  are  quite  right  about  her,"  Mr.  St.  John  over 
heard.  "  She  is  always  jeering  at  men.  She  abuses  you  whole 
sale.  I've  heard  her  often." 

Captain  Belliot's  face  darkened  ;  but  he  put  his  arm  round 
his  partner,  and  they  glided  off  together  slowly. 

When  next  they  passed  Mr.  St.  John,  their  faces  wore  a  simi 
lar  expression  of  drowsy  sensuous  delight,  which  gave  them  for 
the  moment  a  curious  likeness  to  each  other.  They  looked 
incapable  of  speech  or  thought,  or  anything  but  the  slow 
measure  of  their  interwoven  paces,  and  inarticulate  emotion. 

The  scene  made  a  painful  impression  on  Mr.  St.  John,  and 
he  began  to  feel  as  much  out  place  as  he  looked. 

"  We  churchmen  are  a  failure,"  he  thought.  "  We  have  done 
no  good,  and  are  barely  tolerated.  Poetry  of  the  pulpit — 
spiritual  anodyne — what  is  it  ?  Something  I  cannot  grasp  ; 
but  something  wrong  somewhere.  Is  Mrs.  Malcomson  right? 
Is  Mr.  Price  ?  Where  are  they  ?  " 

He  looked  about,  but  the  dancers  with  parted  lips  and 
drowsy  dreamy  eyes,  intoxicated  with  music  and  motion, 
floated  past  him  in  endless,  regular  succession,  hemming  him 
in,  so  that  he  could  not  move  till  the  music  stopped. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MRS.  MALCOMSON   had  made  her  way  over  to  where 
Evadne  and  Mrs.  Beale  were  sitting.     Both  welcomed 
her  cordially,  and  Evadne,  in  particular,  brightened  visibly 
when  she  saw  her  approach.     She  was  wearied  by  these  vapid 


- 


I96  THE   HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

men,  who  had  all  said  the  same  thing,  and  looked  at  her  with 
the  same  expression  one  after  the  other  the  whole  afternoon. 
Mrs.  Sillenger  and  Mr.  Price  were  also  of  the  party,  and  Mrs. 
Malcomson,  in  a  merry  mood,  was  holding  forth  brightly  when 
Mr.  St.  John  joined  them. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  have  our  reward,  we  Englishwomen,"  she  was 
saying.  "  We  religiously  obey  our  men.  We  do  nothing  of 
which  they  disapprove.  We  are  the  meekest  sheep  in  the 
world.  We  scorn  your  independent,  out-spoken  American 
women,  Mr.  Price  ;  we  think  them  bold  and  unwomanly,  and 
do  all  we  can  to  be  as  unlike  them  as  possible.  And  what 
happens?  Do  our  men  adore  us?  Well,  they  continue  to 
say  so.  But  it  is  the  Americans  they  marry. 

Mr.  Price  twitched  his  nose  and  smiled. 

"  But,  tell  me,  Mr.  Price,"  Mrs.  Malcomson  rattled  on  : 
"  The  fate  of  nations  has  hung  upon  your  opinion,  and  your 
decisions  are  matter  of  history  ;  so  kindly  condescend,  of  your 
goodness  and  of  your  wisdom,  to  tell  us  if  you  think  that  ''true 
womanliness'  is  endangered  by  our  occupations,  or  the  cut 
of  our  clothes — I  have  it !  "  she  broke  off,  clasping  her  hands. 
"  Make  us  a  speech  !  Do  !  /  " 

"Oh,  yes,  do!''  the  rest  exclaimed  simultaneously. 

Mr.  Price's  mobile  countenance  twitched  all  over.  He 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  then,  entering  good-humouredly 
into  the  jest,  he  struck  an  attitude  :  "  If  true  womanliness  has 
been  endangered  by  occupation  or  the  fashion  of  a  frock  in 
the  past,  it  will  not  be  so  much  longer,  or  the  signs  of  the 
times  are  most  misleading,"  he  began,  with  the  ease  of  an 
orator.  "  The  old  ideals  are  changing,  and  we  regret  them — 
not  for  their  value,  for  they  were  often  mischievous  enough  ; 
but  as  a  sign  of  change,  to  which,  in  itself,  mankind  has  an 
ineradicable  objection — yet  these  changes  must  take  place  if 
we  are  ever  to  progress.  For  myself,"  he  continued — "  I 
should  be  very  sorry  to  say  that  anything  which  honourable 
women  of  the  day  consider  a  reform,  and  propose  to  adopt,  is 
4  unwomanly  '  or  *  unsexing,'  until  it  has  been  thoroughly  tried, 
and  proved  to  be  so.  It  sounds  mere  idiotcy,  the  thing  is  so 
obvious,  when  one  reduces  it  to  words,  but  yet  neither  men 
nor  women  themselves — for  the  most  part — seem  to  recognize 
the  fact  that  womanliness  is  a  matter  of  sex,  not  of  circum 
stances,  occupation,  or  clothing  ;  and  edch  sex  has  instincts 
and  proclivities  which  are  peculiar  to  it,  and  do  not  differ  to 
any  remarkable  extent  even  in  the  most  diverse  characters ; 


THE   HEAVENLY   TWINS.  197 

from  which  we  may  be  sure  that  those  instincts  are  safe  what 
ever  happens.  And  as  to  the  value  of  cherished  '  ideals  of 
womankind  ' — well,  we  have  only  to  look  back  at  many  of  the 
old  ones,  which  had  to  be  abandoned,  and  have  been  held  up 
to  the  laughter  and  contempt  of  succeeding  ages — although 
doubtless  they  were  dear  enough  to  the  heart  of  man  in  their 
own  day — to  appreciate  the  worth  of  such.  That  little  inci 
dent  of  Jane  Austin,  hiding  away  the  precious  manuscript  she 
was  engaged  upon,  under  her  plain  sewing,  when  visitors 
arrived,  ashamed  to  be  caught  at  the  '  unwomanly  '  occupation 
of  writing  romances,  and  shrinking  with  positive  pain  from  the 
remarks  which  such  poor  foolish  people  as  those  she  feared 
would  have  made  about  her — that  little  incident  alone,  which 
I  remarked  very  early  in  life,  has  saved  me  from  braying  with 
the  rest  of  the  world  upon  this  subject.  If  those  brave  women, 
sure  of  themselves  and  of  their  message,  who  have  written  in 
the  face,  of  all  opposition,  had  not  dared  to  do  so,  how  much 
the  poorer  and  meaner  and  worse  we  should  all,  men  and 
women  alike,  have  been  to-day  for  want  of  the  nourishment  of 
strength  and  goodness  with  which  they  have  kept  us  provided. 
And  you  will  find  it  so  in  these  questions  of  our  day.  Women 
are  bringing  a  storm  about  their  ears,  but  they  are  prepared 
for  that,  and  it  will  not  deter  them  ;  for  they  have  an  infallible 
prescience  in  these  matters  which  men  have  not,  and  they 
know  what  they  are  doing  and  why,  and  could  make  their 
motives  plain  to  us  if  it  were  not  for  our  own  stupid  prejudices 
and  density.  Ah  !  these  are  critical  times,  but  I  believe  what 
a  fellow-countryman  of  mine  has  already  written — I  believe 
that  the  women  will  save  us.  I  do  not  fear  the  fate  of  the 
older  peoples.  I  am  sure  that  we  shall  not  fall  into  nothing 
ness  from  the  present  height  of  our  civilization,  by  reason  of 
our  sensuality  and  vice,  as  all  the  great  nations  have  done 
heretofore.  The  women  will  rebel.  The  women  will  not 
allow  it.  But" — he  added  with  his  benign  smile,  dropping 
into  a  lighter  tone,  as  if  he  felt  that  he  had  been  more  serious 
than  the  occasion  warranted,  and  addressing  Mrs.  Malcomson 
specially — "but  you  must  not  despise  your  personal  appear 
ance.  Beauty  is  a  great  power,  and  it  may  be  used  for  good 
as  well  as  for  evil.  Beauty  is  beneficent  as"  well  as  malign. 
Angels  are  always  allowed  to  be  beautiful,  and  our  highest 
ideal  of  manhood  is  associated  with  physical  as  well  as  moral 
perfection.  Yes  !  Be  sure  that  beauty  is  a  legitimate  means 
of  grace  ;  and  I  will  venture  to  suggest  that  you  who  have  it 


198  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS 

should  use  it  as  such."  Here  he  was  interrupted  by  applause. 
"  True  beauty,  I  mean,  of  course,"  he  added,  descending  from 
the  rostrum,  as  it  were,  and  speaking  colloquially — "not  the 
fashionable  travesty  of  it." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  piece  of  servility  I  have  never  been  so 
degraded  as  to  practise,"  Mrs.  Malcomson  exclaimed. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  it  does  not  do  to  be  singular,"  Mrs.  Beale 
mildly  remonstrated. 

A  dance  concluded  just  at  this  moment,  and  Edith  joined 
the  group,  followed  by  Sir  Mosley  Menteith 

The  ladies  looked  at  her  as  she  approached  with  affection 
ate  interest  and  admiration. 

"  I  am  always  conscious  of  their  presence,"  she  was  saying. 

"  Whose  presence,  dear?"  her  mother  asked. 

"  The  presence  of  those  who  love  us,  mother,  in  the  other 
life,"  she  said,  looking  out  into  space  with  great  serious  eyes, 
as  if  she  saw  something  grand  and  beautiful,  and  also  love- 
inspiring.  The  words  and  her  presence  changed  the  whole 
mental  attitude  of  the  group.  The  intellectual  element  sub 
sided,  the  spiritual,  which  trenches  on  sensation  and  is  warm, 
began  to  glow  in  their  breasts.  Edith  was  the  actor  now,  and 
Mrs.  Malcomson  became  a  mere  spectator.  Mr.  St.  John  was 
the  first  to  appreciate  the  change.  Edith's  presence,  more 
than  her  words,  was  enough  in  itself  to  relax  the  tension  of 
pained  reflection  which  had  possessed  him  the  whole  after 
noon.  It  was  as  if  a  draught  of  the  sacred  anodyne  to  which 
he  had  been  so  long  accustomed  were  being  held  out  to  him, 
and  he  had  drained  it  eagerly,  to  excite  feeling,  and  to  drown 
thought. 

"  Mosley  does  not  think  they  are  so  near  us  as  I  know  them 
to  be,"  Edith  pursued  ;  "  but  I  tell  him,  if  only  he  would  allow 
himself,  he  would  perceive  their  presence  just  as  I  do.  He 
says  this  scene  is  so  worldly  it  would  frighten  them  ;  but  I 
answer  that  they  cannot  be  frightened  ;  they  are  incorrup 
tible,  so  that  there  is  nothing  for  them  to  fear  for  themselves 
— but  they  may  fear  for  us,  and  when  they  do,  we  know  that 
it  is  then  that  they  are  nearest  to  us.  They  come  to  guard 
us." 

Menteith's  glance  wandered  over  her  person  as  she  spoke, 
and  returned  again  to  meet  her  eyes.  He  quite  enjoyed  a 
thrill  of  superstitious  awe  ;  it  was  an  excellent  sauce  piquante 
to  what  he  called  his  "  sentiments  " — by  which  he  meant  the 
state  of  his  senses  at  the  moment.  He  recognized  in  Edith 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  199 

M>  higher  quality  than  that  of  innocence,  which  is  so  appetiz 
ing. 

But  a  gentle  thrill,  as  of  an  electric  shock,  had  passed 
through  them  all,  silencing  them.  Mrs.  Beale,  with  a  sigh, 
released  herself  from  the  uneasy  impression  Mrs.  Malcomson's 
words  had  made  upon  her,  and  felt  the  peace  of  mind,  which 
she  managed  to  preserve  by  refusing  to  know  of  anything  that 
might  disturb  it  and  rouse  her  soul  from  its  apathetic  calm  to 
the  harassing  point  of  action,  restored.  Mrs.  Sillenger  gave 
herself  up  for  the  moment  also.  Her  fine  nature,  although 
highly  tempered  and  exceedingly  sensitive,  was  too  broad  to 
allow  her  to  delude  herself  by  imagining  that  it  is  right  to 
countenance  evil  by  ignoring  it.  She  shrank  from  knowledge, 
but  still  she  had  the  courage  to  possess  herself  of  it  ;  and, 
fortunately,  her  very  sensitiveness  enabled  her  to  turn  with 
ease  from  the  consideration  of  terrible  facts  to  the  enjoyment 
of  a  fine  idea. 

Mrs.  Malcomson  and  Mr.  Austin  Price  looked  at  each  other 
involuntarily.  The  new  element  was  not  congenial  to  either 
of  them.  But  Mr.  St.  John  was  satisfied.  His  heart  had 
expanded  to  the  full :  "  Mr.  Price  is  wrong,  Mrs.  Malcomson 
is  wrong,"  was  the  new  measure  to  which  he  set  his  thoughts. 
"  They  exaggerated  the  evil  ;  they  have  never  perceived  in 
what  the  good  consists.  And  what  do  they  do  with  all  their 
wondrous  clever  talk  ?  They  withdraw  our  attention  from  the 
contemplation  of  holy  things  only  to  pain  and  excite  us  ; 
for  sin  must  continue,  and  suffering  must  continue,  and  we 
can  do  no  more  than  we  have  done.  Example — a  good 
example  !  We  have  only  each  to  set  one,  and  say  nothing. 
Talk,  talk,  talk  ;  I  will  listen  no  more  to  such  tattle  !  It  is 
mere  pride  of  intellect,  which  is  put  to  shame  by  the  first 
gentle  innocent  girl  who  comes,  strong  in  purity  and  faith, 
and  simply  bids  us  all  look  up  !  Did  not  our  heart  burn 
within  us?  Was  not  the  worst  among  us  and  the  most  worldly 
moved  to  repent?"  He  looked  across  at  Menteith,  but  sud 
denly  the  exaltation  ceased,  and  his  soul  shot  with  a  pang  to 
another  extreme.  "  He  is  not  worthy  of  her — he  is  not  worthy 
of  her — no  !  no  !  Heaven  help  me  to  save  her  from  such  a 
fate  !  "  His  mind  had  been  nourished  upon  inconsistencies, 
and  he  was  as  unconscious  of  any  now  as  he  was  when  he 
preached — as  he  had  been  taught — that  God  orders  all  things 
for  the  best,  and  at  the  samj  time  prayed  him  to  avert  some 
special  catastrophe. 


200  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Menteith  was  bending  over  Edith. 

"  I  want  to  lunch  with  you  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  Do  let 
me.  I  love  to  hear  you  talk.  Just  to  be  near  you  makes  a 
better  man  of  me.  But  you  can  make  anything  you  like  of  me  ; 
you  know  you  can.  May  I  come  ?  " 

Edith  glanced  up  at  him  and  smiled,  and  the  young  man, 
taking  this  for  acquiescence,  bowed  and  withdrew  in  triumph, 
making  way  for  Colonel  Colquhoun. 

Evadne  looked  up  at  the  latter  and  smiled  too.  "  Shall  we 
go  ?"  she  said. 

"  I  came  to  see  if  you  were  ready,"  he  answered,  and  then 
she  rose,  took  leave  of  the  friends  about  her,  crossed  the  deck 
to  where  Captain  Belliot,  her  host,  was  standing,  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  left  the  ship.  Many  eyes  had  followed  her 
with  curiosity  and  interest ;  and  many  tongues  made  remarks 
about  her  when  she  was  gone,  expressing  positive  opinions 
with  the  confident  conceit  of  mediocrity,  although  she  had  not 
at  that  time  made  any  sign  of  what  manner  of  person  she 
really  was.  She  had  only  been  a  week  amongst  them,  and  her 
mind  had  been  in  a  state  of  passive  receptivity  the  whole  time, 
subject  to  the  impressions  which  might  be  made  upon  it,  but 
not  itself  producing  any.  It  was  her  appearance  that  they 
presumed  to  judge  her  by.  But  her  intellect  had  been  both 
nourished  and  stimulated  that  afternoon,  and  when  she  went 
to  her  room  at  night  she  hunted  up  a  manuscript  book  suitable 
for  the  purpose,  and  resumed  her  old  habit  of  noting  every 
thing  of  interest  which  she  had  seen  and  heard.  There  were 
blank  pages  still  in  the  old  **  Commonplace  Book,"  and  she  had 
it  with  her,  but  she  never  dreamt  of  making  another  note  in  it. 
She  had  written  her  last  there  once  for  all  the  night  before 
her  wedding,  expecting  to  enter  upon  a  new  phase  of  exist 
ence  ;  and  she  had  indeed  entered  upon  a  new  phase,  although 
not  at  all  in  the  way  she  had  expected  ;  and  now  she  felt  that 
only  a  new  volume  would  be  appropriate  to  contain  the  record 
of  it. 

She  ended  her  notes  that  night  with  a  maxim  which  probably 
contained  all  the  wisdom  she  had  been  able  to  extract  from 
her  late  experiences  : — "  Just  do  a  thing,  and  don't  talk  about 
it,"  she  wrote,  expressing  herself  colloquially.  "  This  is  the 
great  secret  of  success  in  all  enterprises.  Talk  means  dis 
cussion,  discussion  means  irritation,  irritation  means  opposi 
tion  ;  and  opposition  means  hindrance  always,  whether  you 
are  right  or  wrong." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS,  2OI 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"TJVADNE  settled  down  into  her  new  position  at  once.  She 
\_j  took  charge  of  the  household  and  managed  it  well.  Col 
onel  Colquhoun  was  scrupulous  in  matters  of  etiquette,  and 
Evadne's  love  of  order  and  exactitude  made  her  punctilious 
too,  so  that  there  was  one  subject  which  they  agreed  upon 
perfectly,  and  it  very  soon  came  to  be  said  of  them  that  they 
always  did  the  right  thing.  They  appeared  together  every 
where,  at  the  Palace  receptions,  the  opera,  entertainments  on 
naval  vessels,  dinners  and  dances,  polo  and  picnics,  and  at 
church.  If  there  was  one  thing  that  Colquhoun  was  more 
particular  about  than  another  it  was,  in  the  language  of  his 
own  profession,  church  parade.  Watching  Evadne  to  detect 
the  first  symptom  of  new  tactics  on  her  part,  became  one  of 
the  interests  of  his  life.  It  wouldn't  have  been  good  form  to 
take  another  man  into  his  confidence  for  betting  purposes, 
seeing  that  the  lady  was  "  Mrs.  Colquhoun";  but  a  wager  laid 
upon  the  chances  of  change  in  her  "views"  was  the  only  zest 
lacking  to  the  pleasure  he  took  in  the  study  of  this  new  speci 
men  of  her  sex.  He  used  to  dance  a  good  deal  himself,  and 
danced  well  too,  but  after  Evadne  joined  him  he  gave  it  up  to 
a  great  extent,  and  might  often  have  been  seen  leaning  against 
a  pillar  in  a  ball  room  gravely  observing  her.  It  was  a  kind  of 
curiosity  he  suffered  from,  a  sort  of  rage  to  make  her  out. 
He  was  very  attentive  to  her  at  that  period,  treating  her 
always  with  the  deference  due  to  a  young  lady,  and  for  that 
reason  she  accepted  his  attentions  gratefully,  because  they 
were  delicately  paid  and  he  was  really  kind,  but  also  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course.  They  had  begun  well  together  from  the  very 
first  day,  and  she  was  soon  satisfied  that  her  position  at  Malta 
was  the  happiest  possible.  The  beautiful  place,  the  bright 
clear  atmosphere,  the  lively  society,  all  suited  her.  She  had 
none  of  the  trials  peculiar  to  married  life  to  injure  her  health 
and  break  her  spirit,  none  of  the  restrictions  imposed  upon  a 
girl  to  limit  her  pleasures,  and  she  enjoyed  her  independence 
thoroughly.  But  of  course  there  were  drawbacks,  and  the 
thing  of  all  others  she  disliked  most  was  being  toadied. 
There  was  one  pair  of  inveterate  toadies  in  the  garrison, 
Major  and  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston.  They  belonged  to  a 
species  well-known  in  the  service,  and  tolerated  on  the  princi 
ple  of  Damne-toi,  pourvu  que  tu  nous  amuse.  Major  Guthrie 


202  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Brimston  claimed  to  be  one  of  the  Morningquest  family,  and 
he  had  a  portrait  of  the  duke,  as  the  head  of  the  house,  in  his 
dressing  room.  It  was  balanced  on  the  right  by  Ecce  Homo, 
and  on  the  left  by  the  Sistine  Madonna,  but  it  was  popularly 
supposed  that  he  worshipped  the  duke.  The  pair  acted  the 
role  of  devoted  husband  and  wife  successfully,  being  in  fact 
sincere  in  their  habit  of  playing  into  each  other's  hands  for 
their  own  selfish  purposes;  and  people  who  wished  for  an  ex 
cuse  to  tolerate  them  because  they  were  amusing,  might  say 
of  them  quite  truly :  "  Well,  whatever  their  faults,  they  are 
certainly  devoted  to  each  other."  But  it  was  a  partnership  of 
self-interest,  enhanced  by  a  little  sentimentality,  and  they 
understood  it  themselves,  for  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  confessed 
in  a  moment  of  expansion  that  she  knew  "Bobbie"  would 
marry  again  directly  if  she  died,  and  certainly  she  would  do 
the  same  if  she  lost  him  ;  why  shouldn't  she  ? " 

Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  was  a  nasty-minded  woman,  of  ex 
tremely  coarse  conversation,  and,  without  compromising  her 
self,  she  was  a  fecund  source  of  corruption  in  others.  No 
younger  woman  of  undecided  character  could  come  under  her 
influence  without  being  tainted  in  mind  if  not  in  manners. 
She  delighted  in  objectionable  stories,  and  her  husband  fed 
her  fancy  from  the  clubs  liberally.  Her  stock-in-trade  con 
sisted  for  the  most  part  of  these  stories,  which  she  would 
retail  to  her  lady  friends  at  afternoon  teas.  She  told  them 
remarkably  well  too,  and  knew  exactly  how  to  suit  them  to 
palates  which  were  only  just  beginning  to  acquire  a  taste  for 
such  fare,  and  were  still  fastidious.  Wherever  she  came  there 
was  laughter  among  the  ladies,  of  the  high  hysteric  bacchante 
kind,  not  true  mirth,  but  a  loud  laxity,  into  which  they  were 
beguiled  for  the  moment,  and  which  was  the  cause  of  self- 
distrust,  disgust,  and  regret,  upon  reflection,  to  the  better 
kind.  If  the  question  of  motive  is  to  be  taken  into 
account  in  considering  the  words  and  deeds  of  people,  it 
may  be  confidently  asserted  that  the  Guthrie  Brimstons  never 
said  a  good-natured  thing  nor  did  a  kind  one.  "I  say, 
Minnie,  if  I  give  that  sergeant  of  mine  a  goose  at  Christmas, 
I  think  I'll  get  more  work  out  of  the  fellow  next  year,"  Major 
Brimston  said  to  his  wife  at  breakfast  one  morning. 

"  Yes,  do,"  his  wife  answered  sympathetically.  "  And  I  say, 
Bobbie,  I'm  going  to  work  Captain  Askew  a  bedspread.  He's 
an  awfully  useful  little  man." 

One   form   of    pleasantry  the   Guthrie   Brimstons   greatly 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  203 

affected  was  nicknaming.  They  nicknamed  everybody, 
always  opprobriously,  often  happily  in  the  way  of  hitting  off  a 
salient  peculiarity ;  but  they  were  not  in  the  least  aware  that 
they  were  themselves  the  best  nicknamed  people  in  the  service. 
And  they  would  not  have  liked  it  had  they  known  it,  for  they 
were  both  exceedingly  touchy.  They  held  no  feelings  of  another 
sacred,  but  their  own  supreme.  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  was 
known  as  "The  Brimston  Woman." 

Her  conversation  bristled  with  vain  repetitions.  She  was 
always  "a  worm"  when  asked  after  her  health,  and  everything 
that  pleased  her  was  "pucka."  She  knew  no  language  but 
her  own,  and  that  she  spoke  indifferently,  her  command  of  it 
being  limited  for  the  most  part  to  slang  expressions,  which 
are  the  scum  of  language  ;  and  a  few  stock  phrases  of  polite 
quality  for  special  occasions.  But  she  used  the  latter  awk 
wardly,  as  workmen  wear  their  Sunday  clothes. 

Of  the  Guthrie  Brimston  morals  it  is  safe  to  say  that  they 
would  neither  of  them  have  broken  either  the  sixth,  seventh,  or 
eighth  commandments ;  but  they  bore  false  witness  freely — 
not  in  open  assertion,  however,  for  that  could  be  easily  refuted, 
and  fair  fight  was  not  at  all  in  their  line.  But  when  false 
witness  could  be  meanly  conveyed  by  implication  and  innuendo, 
it  formed  the  staple  of  their  conversation. 

"  Those  Guthrie  Brimstons  should  be  public  prosecutors," 
Evadne  said  to  Colonel  Colquhoun  at  breakfast  one  morning, 
commenting  upon  some  story  of  theirs  which  he  had  just 
retailed  to  her.  "I  notice  when  anyone's  character  is  brought 
forward  to  be  judged  by  society  they  are  always  Counsel  for 
the  Prosecution." 

These  were  the  people  whom  Colonel  Colquhoun  first  intro 
duced  to  Evadne.  They  amused  him,  and  therefore  he  en 
couraged  them  to  come  to  the  house.  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brim 
ston  suited  him  exactly.  To  use  their  own  choice  lan 
guage,  he  would  have  given  her  away  at  any  time,  and  she 
him ;  but  that  did  not  prevent  them  enjoying  each  other's 
society  thoroughly. 

True  to  her  determination  to  make  things  pleasant  for  Col 
onel  Colquhoun  if  possible,  and  seeing  that  he  found  these 
people  congenial,  Evadne  did  her  best  to  cultivate  their 
acquaintance  for  his  sake.  Never  successfully,  however.  A 
mere  tolerance  was  as  far  as  she  got ;  but  even  that  was  inter 
mittent  ;  and  the  undercurrent  of  criticism  which  streamed 
through  her  mind  in  their  presence  could  never  be  checked. 


204  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

But  she  was  slow  to  read  character.  Her  impulse  was  always 
to  believe  in  people,  and  to  like  them  ;  and  she  had  to  acquire 
a  knowledge  of  their  faults  painfully,  bit  by  bit.  But  Colonel 
Colquhoun  helped  her  here.  He  was  an  inveterate  gossip, 
very  much  in  the  manner  of  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  herself, 
only  that  he  was  more  refined  when  he  talked  to  Evadne  ;  and 
at  breakfast,  their  one  tete-a-tete  meal  in  the  day,  it  was  his 
habit  to  tell  her  such  club  stories  as  were  sufficiently  decent, 
and  what  "he  said"  and  what  "she  said"  of  each  other,  upon 
which  he  would  strike  an  average  to  arrive  at  the  probable 
truth. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  what  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  feud 
between  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  and  Mrs.  Malcomson  ? "  he 
asked  her  one  morning  at  breakfast. 

"  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's  defects  of  character  obviously," 
said  Evadne  sententiously. 

"  Then  you  prefer  Mrs.  Malcomson  ?  "  he  suggested.  "Now, 
/can't  get  on  with  her  a  bit.  She  always  appears  to  me  so 
cold  and  censorious." 

"  Does  she  ?"  said  Evadne  thoughtfully.  "But  she  is  not 
really  so  at  all.  She  is  judicial  though,  and  sincere,  which 
gives  one  a  sense  of  security  in  her  presence." 

"But  she  is  deadly  dull,"  said  Colonel  Colquhoun. 

"Oh,  no!"  Evadne  exclaimed,  smiling.  "You  mistake 
her  entirely.  She  made  me  laugh  immoderately  only  yester 
day." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  laugh  immoderately,"  said  Col 
onel  Colquhoun. 

Major  Guthrie  Brimston  surprised  Evadne  more,  perhaps, 
than  his  wife  did.  She  began  by  overlooking  the  little  man 
somehow  without  the  least  intending  it,  and  as  he  seemed  to 
himself  to  fill  the  horizon  when  in  society  and  block  out  all 
view  of  anybody  else,  he  could  only  believe  that  she  did  it  on 
purpose. 

He  was  by  way  of  being  an  amateur  actor,  a  low  comedy 
man  ;  but  he  was  not  sincere  enough  to  personate  any  char 
acter,  or  be  anything  either  on  the  stage  or  off  it  but  his  own 
small  inartistic  self  ;  and  no  amount  of  bawling  could  make 
him  an  actor,  though  he  bawled  himself  hoarse  as  a  rule,  mis 
taking  sound  for  the  science  of  expression.  Still,  it  was  the 
fashion  to  consider  him  funny.  People  called  him  "  Grigsby  " 
and  "  Kickleberry  Brown,"  and  laughed  when  he  twiddled 
his  thumbs.  He  was  forever  buffooning,  and  if  he  sat  on  a 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  205 

high  stool  with  his  toes  just  touching  the  floor,  his  head  on 
one  side,  a  sad  expression  of  countenance,  and  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  touching,  he  was  supposed  to  be  doing  something 
amusing,  and  the  effort  would  be  rewarded  with  laughter,  in 
which,  however,  Evadne  could  not  join.  These  performances 
outraged  her  sense  of  the  dignity  of  poor  human  nature, 
which  it  is  easy  enough  to  discount,  but  very  difficult  to  main 
tain  ;  and  made  her  sorry  for  him. 

His  hands  were  another  offence  to  her.  They  were  fat  and 
podgy,  with  short  pointed  fingers,  indicative  of  animalism  and 
ill-nature,  the  opposite  of  all  that  is  refined  and  beautiful — 
truly  of  necessity  an  offence  to  her. 

It  was  at  first  that  she  had  overlooked  him,  but  after  a  time, 
when  she  began  to  know  him  better,  the  little,  fat,  funny  man 
magnetized  her  attention.  She  could  not  help  gravely  con 
sidering  him  wherever  she  met  him,  and  wondering  about  him 
— wondering  about  them  both  in  fact.  She  wondered,  for 
one  thing,  why  they  were  so  fond  of  eating  and  drinking,  her 
own  taste  in  those  matters  being  of  the  simplest  description. 

"  I  never  deny  myself  anything,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brim- 
ston.  And  she  looked  like  it. 

Evadne  wondered  also  at  their  meanness,  when  she  saw 
them  saving  money  by  borrowing  the  carriages  of  people 
whom  she  had  heard  them  class  as  "  Nothing  but  shopkeepers, 
you  know.  We  shouldn't  speak  to  them  anywhere  else." 
And  whom  they  ridiculed  habitually  for  the  mispronunciation 
of  words,  and  for  accents  unmistakably  provincial. 

What  could  Evadne  have  in  common  with  these  flippant 
people — scum  themselves,  forever  on  the  surface,  incapable 
even  of  seeing  beneath,  their  every  idea  and  motive  a  falsifi 
cation  of  something  divine  in  life  or  thought  ?  They  did  not 
even  speak  the  same  language.  To  their  insidious  slang  she 
opposed  a  smooth  current  of  perfect  English,  which  seemed 
to  reflect  upon  the  inferior  quality  of  their  own  expressions 
and  led  to  mutual  embarrassment.  Evadne  meant  every  word 
she  uttered,  and  was  careful  to  choose  the  one  which  should 
best  express  her  meaning.  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's  meanings, 
on  'the  other  hand,  told  best  when  half  concealed.  Another 
difficulty  was,  too,  that  Evadne's  clear,  decided  speech  had 
the  effect  of  exposing  innuendo  and  insincerity,  and  making 
both  "  bad  form,"  which,  socially  speaking,  is  a  much  more 
terrible  stigma  to  bear  than  an  accusation  of  dishonesty,  how 
ever  well  authenticated.  And  even  their  very  manner  of 


*o6  THE  HEAVENLY   TV/INS. 

expressing  legitimate  mirth  was  not  the  same,  for  Mrs.  Guth- 
rie  Brimston  laughed  aloud,  while  Evadne's  laugh  was  sound 
less. 

Evadne  suffered  when  she  found  herself  being  toadied  by 
these  people.  She  said  nothing,  however.  They  were  Colo 
nel  Colquhoun's  friends,  and  she  felt  herself  forced  to  be  civil 
to  them  so  long  as  he  chose  to  bring  them  to  the  house.  And 
they  were  besides  an  evil  out  of  which  good  came  to  her 
quickly.  For  as  soon  as  she  understood  their  manners  and 
their  modes  of  thought,  she  felt  her  heart  fill  with  earnest 
self-congratulation  :  "  If  these  are  the  kind  of  people  whom 
Colonel  Colquhoun  prefers,"  was  her  mental  ejaculation, 
"  what  an  escape  I  have  had  !  Thank  Heaven,  he  is  nothing 
to  me." 

CHAPTER  VII. 

SOCIETY  in  Malta  during  the  sunny  winter  is  very  much 
like  the  society  of  a  London  season,  only  that  it  .is  more 
representative  because  there  are  fewer  specimens  of  each  class, 
and  those  who  do  go  out  are  like  delegates  charged  with  a 
concentrated  extract  of  the  peculiarities  and  prejudices  of 
their  own  set.  When  Evadne  arrived,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  winter,  the  rest  of  the  party  had  already  assembled. 
There  were  naval  people,  military,  commercial,  landed  gentry, 
clerical,  royalty,  and  beer.  The  principal  representative  of 
this  latter  interest  was  a  lady  whom  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston 
called  the  Queen  of  Beersheba  because  of  her  splendid  habili 
ments,  and  this  is  a  fair  specimen  of  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's 
wit. 

Evadne  was  received  in  silence,  as  it  were,  for  abroad  the 
question  is  not  generally  "  Who  are  you  ?"  as  at  home,  but 
"  What  are  you  like  ?"  or  "  How  much  can  you  do  for  us  ?" 
and  people  were  waiting  till  she  showed  her  colours.  She 
never  did  show  any  decided  colours  of  the  usual  kind,  how 
ever.  She  was  not  "  a  beauty  beyond  doubt  " — some  people 
did  not  admire  her  in  the  least.  She  was  not  "  the  same  " 
or  "  nice  "  to  everybody,  for  she  had  strong  objections  to 
certain  people,  and  showed  that  she  had  ;  and  she  was  not 
"  by  way  of  entertaining  "  at  all,  although  she  did  "  as  much 
of  that  kind  of  thing  "  as  other  ladies  of  her  station.  But  yet, 
with  all  these  negatives,  she  made  a  distinct  impression  on  the 
place  as  soon  as  she  appeared.  It  sounds  paradoxical,  but 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  207 

she  was  celebrated  at  once  for  her  silence  and  for  what  she 
had  said.  The  weight  of  her  occasional  utterances  told. 
And  if  it  were  fair  to  call  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  counsel  for 
the  prosecution,  Evadne  might  have  been  set  up  as  counsel 
for  the  defence;  for  it  so  happened  that  when  she  did  speak  in 
those  early  days  it  was  usually  in  defence  of  something  or 
somebody — people,  principles,  absent  friends,  or  enemies ; 
anything  unfairly  attacked.  Generally,  when  she  said  any 
thing  cutting,  it  was  so  clearly  incisive  you  hardly  knew  for  a 
moment  where  you  were  injured.  She  did  it  like  the  execu 
tioner  of  that  Eastern  potentate  who  decapitated  a  criminal 
with  such  skill  and  with  so  sharp  an  instrument  that  the  latter 
did  not  know  when  he  was  executed  and  went  on  talking,  his 
head  remaining  in  situ  until  he  sneezed.  There  was  one  old 
gentleman,  Lord  Groome,  whom  she  had  disposed  of  several 
times  in  that  way  without,  however,  being  able  to  get  rid  of 
him  quite,  because  his  stupidity  was  a  hardy  perennial  which 
came  up  again  all  the  fresher  and  stronger  for  having  been 
lopped.  He  was  a  degenerated,  ridiculous-looking  old  object,  a 
man  with  the  most  touching  confidence  in  his  tailor,  which  the 
latter  invariably  betrayed  by  never  making  him  a  garment 
that  fitted  him.  He  had  begun  by  admiring  Evadne,  and  had 
endeavoured  to  pay  his  senile  court  to  her  with  fulsome  flat 
teries  in  the  manner  approved  of  his  kind — but  he  ended  by 
being  afraid  of  her. 

His  first  collision  with  Evadne  was  on  the  subject  of  "  those 
low  Radicals,"  against  whom  he  had  been  launching  out  in 
unmeasured  terms.  "  Why  low,  because  Radical  ? "  she  asked. 
"  I  should  have  thought,  among  so  many,  that  some  must  be 
honest  men,  and  nothing  honest  can  be  low." 

"  I  tell  you,  my  dear  lady,"  he  replied,  his  temper  tried  by 
her  words,  but  controlled  by  her  appearance,  "  I  tell  you  the 
Radicals  are  a  low  lot,  the  whole  of  them." 

"  Ah  !  Then  I  suppose  you  know  them  all,"  she  said,  look 
ing  at  him  thoughtfully. 

The  want  of  intelligence  in  the  community  at  large  was 
made  painfully  apparent  by  the  stories  of  her  peculiar  opin 
ions  which  were  freely  circulated  and  seldom  suspected.  The 
Queen  of  Beersheba  declared  that  Evadne  approved  of  the 
frightful  cruelties  which  the  people  inflicted  on  the  nobles 
during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  that  she  had  heard  her  say  so 
herself. 

What  Evadne  did  say  was  ;  "  The  revolutionary  excesses 


208  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

were  inevitable.  They  came  at  the  swing  of  the  pendulum 
which  the  nobles  themselves  had  set  in  motion  ;  and  if  you 
consider  the  sufferings  that  had  been  inflicted  on  the  people, 
and  their  long  endurance  of  them,  you  will  be  more  surprised 
to  think  that  they  kept  their  reason  so  long  than  that  they 
should  have  lost  it  at  last.  '  Pour  la  populace  ce  n'est  jamais 
parenvied'attaquerqu'ellesesouleve,  mais  par  impatience  de 
souffrir.'  " 

But  the  French  Revolution  is  an  abstract  subject  of  imper 
sonal  interest  compared  with  the  Irish  question  at  the  present 
time  ;  and  the  commotion  which  was  caused  by  the  misrepre 
sentation  of  Evadne's  remarks  about  the  Reign  of  Terror  was 
insignificant  compared  with  what  followed  when  her  feeling 
for  Ireland  had  been  misinterpreted.  She  gave  out  the  text 
which  called  forth  the  second  series  of  imbecilities  during 
a  dinner  party  at  her  own  house  one  night,  her  old  friend, 
Lord  Groome,  supplying  her  with  a  peg  upon  which  to  hang 
her  conclusions,  by  making  an  intemperate  attack  upon  the 
Irish. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

CAPTAIN  BELLIOTwas  not  one  of 'the  guests  at  that 
\j  dinner  party  of  Evadne's,  but  he  happened  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Guthrie  Brimston  next  day,  and  rinding  her  alone,  had  tea 
with  her  tete-b-tite  ;  and  of  course  she  entertained  him  with 
her  own  version  of  what  had  occurred  the  night  before. 

"  The  dinner  itself  was  very  good,"  she  said.  "  All  their 
dinners  are,  you  know.  But  Mrs.  Colquhoun  was" — she 
raised  her  hands,  and  nodded  her  head — "  well,  just  too  aw 
ful  ! "  she  concluded. 

"  Indeed  !  "  he  observed,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  crossing 
his  legs,  and  settling  himself  for  a  treat  generally.  "  You 
surprise  me,  because  she  has  never  struck  me  as  being  the 
kind  of  person  who  would  set  the  Thames  on  fire  in  any  way." 

Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  smiled  enigmatically  :  "  Do  you 
admire  her  very  much  ?  "  she  asked  with  the  utmost  suavity. 

"  Well,"  he  answered  warily,  "  she  is  rather  peculiar  in 
appearance,  don't  you  know." 

Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  drew  her  own  conclusions,  not  from 
the  words,  but  from  the  wariness,  and  proceeded  :  "  It  is  not 
in  appearance  only  that  that  she  is  peculiar,  then.  She  aston 
ished  us  all  last  night,  I  can  assure  you." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  209 

"  How?"  he  asked,  to  fill  up  an  artistic  pause. 

"  By  the  things  she  said  !  "  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  answered, 
with  an  affectation  of  reserve. 

"  Now  you  do  surprise  me  ! "  Captain  Belliot  declared. 
"  Because  I  cannot  imagine  her  saying  anything  but  '  How  do 
you  do  ? '  and  <  Good-bye,' «  Yes  '  and  '  No,' <  Indeed  ! ' '  Please,' 
'Thank  you,'  and  *  Do  you  think  so  ?  '  On  my  honour,  those 
words  are  all  I  have  ever  heard  her  utter,  and  I  have  met  her 
as  often  as  anybody  on  the  island.  Now,  /  like  a  woman  with 
something  in  her,"  he  concluded,  ogling  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brim 
ston. 

"  Well,  then,  she  must  have  been  hibernating,  or  something, 
when  she  first  came  out,  for  she  has  begun  to  talk  now  with 
a  vengeance,"  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  answered  smartly. 

"  But  what  has  she  been  saying  ? "  he  asked,  with  great 
curiosity. 

"  I  simply  cannot  tell  you  !  "  she  answered  pointedly. 

"  So  bad  as  that  ? "  he  said,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

"  Yes.  Things  that  no  woman  should  have  said,"  she  sub 
joined  with  emphasis. 

There  was,  of  course,  only  one  conclusion  to  be  drawn 
from  this,  and  it  would  have  been  drawn  at  the  club  later  in 
the  day  inevitably,  even  if  other  ladies  had  not  also  declared 
that  Mrs.  Colquhouri  had  said  such  dreadful  things  that  they 
really  could  not  repeat  them.  It  is  true  that  some  of  the  men 
of  the  party  mentioned  the  matter  in  a  different  way,  and  one, 
when  asked  what  it  was  exactly  that  Mrs.  Colquhoun  had  said, 
even  answered  casually  :  "  Oh,  some  rot  about  the  Irish  ques 
tion  !  "  But  the  explanation  made  no  impression,  and  was 
immediately  forgotten.  Captain  Belliot  himself  was  so  excited 
by  the  news  that  he  hurried  away  from  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston 
as  soon  as  he  could  possibly  excuse  himself  without  giving 
offence,  and  went  at  once  to  call  upon  Evadne  in  order  to 
inspect  her  from  this  unexpected  point  of  view. 

He  found  her  talking  tranquilly  to  Mr.  St.  John,  Edith,  and 
Mrs.  Beale  ;  and  although  he  sat  for  half  an  hour,  she  never 
said  a  word  of  the  slightest  significance.  That,  however, 
proved  nothing  either  one  way  or  the  other,  and  he  left  her 
with  his  confidence  in  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's  insinuations 
quite  unshaken,  his  theory  being  that  the  women  whose  minds 
are  in  reality  the  most  corrupt  are  as  a  rule  very  carefully 
guarded  in  their  conversation,  although,  of  course,  they  always 
betray  themselves  sooner  or  later  by  some  such  slip  as  that 


210  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

with  which  he  credited  Evadne — an  idea  which  he  proceeded 
to  expand  at  the  club  with  great  effect. 

Evadne's  reputation  was  in  clanger  after  that,  and  she  risked 
it  still  further  by  acting  in  defiance  of  the  public  opinion  of 
the  island  generally,  in  order  to  do  what  she  conceived  to  be 
an  act  of  justice. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  went  to  her  one  morning,  brimming 
over  with  news. 

"  My  husband  has  just  received  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  his 
in  India,  Major  Lopside,  telling  him  to  warn  us  all  not  to  call 
on  Mrs.  Clarence,  who  has  just  joined  your  regiment,"  she 
burst  out.  "  I  thought  I  ought  to  let  you  know  at  once.  She 
met  her  husband  in  India,  Major  Lopside  says,  and  it  was  a 
runaway  match.  But  that  is  not  all.  For  he  says  he  knows 
for  a  fact  that  they  travelled  together  for  three  hundred  miles 
down  country,  sleeping  at  all  the  dak  bungalows  by  the  way, 
before  they  were  married  !  " 

"Waiting  until  they  came  to  some  place  where  they  could 
be  married,  I  suppose?"  Evadne  suggested. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  laughed.  "  Taking  a  sort  of  trial 
trip,  I  should  say  !  "  she  ventured.  "  But  it  was  very  good  of 
Major  Lopside  to  let  us  know.  I  should  certainly  have  called 
if  he  hadn't." 

"  You  make  me  feel  sick "  Evadne  began. 

"  I  knew  I  should  ! "  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  interposed 
triumphantly. 

"  Sick  at  heart,"  Evadne  pursued,  "  to  think  of  an  English 
man  being  capable  of  writing  a  letter  for  the  express  purpose 
of  ruining  a  woman's  reputation." 

Mrs.  Brimston  changed  countenance.  "We  think  it  was 
awfully  kind  of  Major  Lopside  to  let  us  know,"  she  repeated, 
perking. 

"  Well,  /  think,"  said  Evadne,  her  slow  utterance  giving 
double  weight  to  eactrword — "/think  he  must  be  an  exceed 
ingly  low  person  himself,  and  one  probably  whom  Mrs.  Clar 
ence  has  had  to  snub.  He  could  only  have  been  actuated  by 
animus  when  he  wrote  that  letter.  One  may  be  quite  sure 
that  a  man  is  never  disinterested  when  he  does  a  low  thing." 

"It  was  a  private  letter  written  for  our  private  information," 
Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  asserted.  She  was  ruffled  consider 
ably  by  this  time. 

"  No,  not  written  for  your  private  information,"  Evadne 
rejoined,  "  or  if  it  were,  you  are  making  a  strange  use  of  it.  I 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S.  211 

have  no  doubt,  however,  that  it  was  designed  for  the  very  pur 
pose  to  which  you  are  putting  it — the  purpose  of  spoiling  the 
Clarences'  chance  of  happiness  in  a  new  place.  And  it  is  pre 
cisely  to  the  *  private  '  character  of  the  document  that  I  take 
exception.  If  this  Major  Lopside  has  any  accusation  to  bring 
against  Captain  Clarence,  he  should  have  done  it  publicly, 
and  not  in  this  underhand  manner.  He  should  have  written 
to  Colonel  Colquhoun." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston,  her  native  rude 
ness  getting  the  better  of  her  habitual  caution  at  this  provoca 
tion.  "  Major  Lopside  would  not  be  fool  enough  to  report  a 
man  to  his  own  chief.  Why,  he  might  get  the  worst  of  it 
himself  if  there  were  an  inquiry." 

"  Exactly,"  Evadne  answered.  "  He  thinks  it  safer  to  stab 
in  the  dark.  Will  you  kindly  excuse  me  ?  I  am  very  busy 
this  morning,  writing  my  letters  for  the  mail.  But  many 
thanks  for  letting  me  know  about  this  malicious  story." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  retire  after  this,  which  Mrs. 
Guthrie  Brimston  did,  discomfited,  and  with  an  uneasy  feeling, 
which  had  been  growing  upon  her  lately,  that  Evadne  was  not 
quite  the  nonentity  for  which  she  had  mistaken  her. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  had  lunched  at  mess  that  day,  and 
Evadne  did  not  see  him  until  quite  late,  when  she  met  him  on 
the  Barraca  with  the  Guthrie  Brimstons. 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  Barraca  is  thronged,  and  Evadne 
had  gone  with  a  purpose,  expecting  to  find  him  there. 

He  left  the  Guthrie  Brimstons  and  joined  her  as  soon  as 
she  appeared. 

"  I  have  been  home  to  look  for  you,"  he  said,  "but  I  found 
that  you  had  gone  out  without  an  escort,  no  one  knew  where." 

"I  have  been  making  calls,"  Evadne  answered — "and  mak 
ing  Mrs.  Clarence's  acquaintance  also.  Oh,  there  she  is, 
leaning  against  that  arch  with  her  husband.  Have  you  met 
her  yet  ?  Let  me  introduce  you.  She  is  charmingly  pretty, 
but  very  timid." 

Colonel  Colquhoun's  brow  contracted. 

"  I  thought  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  had  warned  you — 

"Warned  me  ?"  Evadne  quietly  interposed.  "  Mrs.  Guthrie 
Brimston  brought  me  a  scandalous  story  which  had  the  effect 
of  making  me  call  on  Mrs.  Clarence  at  once.  I  suppose  you 
have  seen  this  precious  Major  Lopside's  letter?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  And  I  am  sorry  you  called  without 
consulting  me.  You  really  ought  to  have  consulted  me.  It 


212  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

will  make  it  doubly  awkward  for  you,  having  called.  But 
we'll  rush  the  fellow.  I'll  make  him  send  in  his  papers  at 
once." 

"Why  is  it  awkward  forme — what  is  awkward  forme?" 
Evadne  asked. 

"  Why,  having  a  lady  in  the  regiment  you  can't  know,  to 
begin  with,  and  having  to  cut  her  after  calling  upon  her,"  he 
answered.  "  If  you  would  only  condescend  to  consult  me 
occasionally  I  could  save  you  from  this  kind  of  thing." 

"  But  why  may  I  not  countenance  Mrs.  Clarence  ? " 

"You  cannot  countenance  a  woman  there  is  a  story  about," 
he  responded  decidedly. 

"  But  where  is  the  proof  of  the  story  ?  "  she  asked, 

Colonel  Colquhoun  reflected  :  "  A  man  wouldn't  write  a 
letter  of  that  kind  without  some  grounds  for  it,"  he  said. 

"  We  must  find  out  what  the  exact  grounds  were,"  said 
Evadne. 

"  Well,  you  see  none  of  the  other  ladies  are  speaking  to 
her,"  Colonel  Colquhoun  observed,  with  the  air  of  one  whose 
argument  is  unanswerable. 

"  They  are  sheep,"  said  Evadne,  "  but  they  can  be  led 
aright  as  well  as  astray,  I  suppose.  We'll  see,  at  all  events. 
But  don't  let  me  keep  you  from  your  friends.  I  want  to  speak 
to  Mrs.  Malcomson." 

There  was  a  quiet  sense  of  power  about  Evadne  when  she 
chose  to  act  which  checked  opposition  at  the  outset,  and  put 
an  end  to  argument.  Colonel  Colquhoun  looked  disheartened, 
but  like  a  gentleman  he  acted  at  once  on  the  hint  to  go.  He 
did  not  rejoin  the  Guthrie  Brimstons,  however,  but  sat  alone 
under  one  of  the  arches  of  the  Barraca,  turning  his  back  on 
the  entrancing  view  of  the  Grand  Harbour,  a  jewel  of  beauty, 
set  in  silence. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  was  watching.  He  saw  Mrs.  Clarence 
turn  from  the  strange  Christian  women  who  eyed  her  coldly, 
and  lean  over  the  parapet ;  he  saw  the  influence  of  the  scene 
upon  her  mind  in  the  sweet  and  tranquil  expression  which 
gradually  replaced  the  half-pained,  half-puzzled  look  her  face 
had  been  wearing.  He  saw  her  husband  standing  beside  her, 
but  with  his  back  to  the  parapet,  looking  at  the  people  gloomily 
and  with  resentment,  but  also  half-puzzled,  perceiving  that  his 
wife  was  being  slighted,  and  wondering  why. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  saw  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  also,  going 
from  one  group  to  another  with  the  peculiar  ducking-forward 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  213 

gait  of  a  high-hipped,  high-shouldered  woman,  followed  by  her 
little  fat  "  Bobbie,"  smiling  herself,  and  met  with  smiles  which 
were  followed  by  noisy  laughter  ;  and  he  noticed,  too,  that 
invariably  the  eyes  of  those  she  addressed  turned  upon  Mrs. 
Clarence,  and  their  faces  grew  hard  and  unfriendly  ;  and  not 
one  person  to  whom  she  spoke  looked  the  happier  or  the  bet 
ter  for  the  attention  when  she  left  them.  Colonel  Colquhoun, 
with  a  set  countenance,  slowly  curled  his  blond  moustache. 
Only  his  eyes  moved,  following  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  for 
a  while,  and  then  returning  to  Evadne.  She  was  speaking  to 
Mrs.  Malcomson,  and  the  latter  looked,  as  she  listened,  at 
Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston.  Then  Evadne  took  her  arm,  and  the 
two  sauntered  over  to  Mrs.  Beale — an  important  person,  who 
always  adopted  the  last  charitable  opinion  she  heard  expressed 
positively,  and  acted  upon  it. 

It  was  Mrs.  Malcomson  who  spoke  to  her,  and  the  effect  of 
what  she  said  was  instantaneous,  for  the  old  lady  bridled  visi 
bly,  and  then  set  out,  accompanied  by  Edith,  with  the  obvious 
intention  of  heading  the  relief  party  herself  that  very  minute. 
She  stationed  herself  beside  Mrs.  Clarence,  and  stood,  patting 
the  poor  girl's  hand  with  motherly  tenderness  ;  smiling  at  her, 
and  saying  conventional  nothings  in  a  most  cordial  manner. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  had  watched  these  proceedings,  under 
standing  them  perfectly,  but  remaining  impassive  as  at  first. 
And  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  had  also  seen  signs  of  the  re-action 
the  moment  it  set  in,  and  shown  her  astonishment.  She  was 
not  accustomed  to  be  checked  in  full  career  when  it  pleased 
her  to  be  down  upon  another  woman,  and  she  didn't  quite 
know  what  to  do.  She  looked  first  at  Colonel  Colquhoun,  in 
viting  him  to  rejoin  her,  but  he  ignored  the  glance  ;  and  she 
therefore  found  herself  obliged  either  to  give  him  up  or  to  go 
to  him.  She  decided  to  go  to  him,  and  set  out,  attended  by 
her  own  "  Bobbie."  By  the  time  she  had  reached  him,  how 
ever,  the  last  act  of  the  little  play  had  begun.  Evadne  was 
standing  apart  with  Captain  Clarence,  looking  up  at  him  and 
speaking — with  her  usual  unimpassioned  calm,  to  judge  by  the 
expression  of  her  face,  but  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  had  begun  to 
realize  that  when  Evadne  did  speak  it  was  to  some  purpose,  and 
she  watched  now  and  awaited  the  event  in  evident  trepidation. 

"  She's  not  telling  him  !  She  never  would  dare  to  !"  slipped 
from  her  unawares. 

"  They  are  coming  this  way,"  Colonel  Colquhoun  observed 
significantly. 


214  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  I  shall  go  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston.  •'  Come,  Bob 
bie  ! " 

It  was  too  late,  however  ;  they  were  surrounded. 

"  Be  good  enough  to  remain  a  moment,"  Captain  Clarence 
exclaimed  authoritatively.  Then  turning  to  Colonel  Colqu- 
houn,  he  said  ;  "  I  understand  that  these  people  have  in  their 
possession  a  letter  containing  a  foul  slander  against  my  wife 
and  myself,  and  that  they  have  been  using  it  to  injure  us  in 
the  estimation  of  everybody  here.  If  it  be  possible,  sir,  I 
should  like  to  have  an  official  inquiry  instituted  into  the  cir 
cumstances  of  my  marriage  at  once." 

"  Very  well,  Captain  Clarence,"  Colonel  Colquhoun  answered 
ceremoniously. 

"  I'll  apologise,"  Major  Guthrie  Brimston  gasped. 

But  Captain  Clarence  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  back 
to  his  wife  as  if  he  had  not  heard. 

How  the  inquiry  was  conducted  was  not  made  public.  But 
when  it  was  said  that  the  Clarences  had  been  cleared,  and  seen 
that  the  Guthrie  Brimstons  had  not  suffered,  society  declared 
it  to  have  been  a  case  of  six  of  one  and  half-a-dozen  of  the 
other,  which  left  matters  exactly  where  they  were  before. 
Those  who  chose  to  believe  in  the  calumny  continued  to  do 
so,  and  vice  versa,  the  only  difference  being  that  Evadne's 
generous  action  in  the  matter  brought  blame  upon  herself 
from  one  set,  and  also — what  was  worse — brought  her  into  a 
kind  of  vogue  with  another  which  would  have  caused  her  to 
rage  had  she  understood  it.  For  the  story  that  she  had  "  said 
things  which  no  woman  could  repeat,"  added  to  the  fact  that 
she  was  seen  everywhere  with  a  lady  whose  reputation  had 
been  attacked,  made  men  of  a  certain  class  feel  a  sudden  in 
terest  in  her.  "  Birds  of  a  feather,"  they  maintained  ;  then 
spoke  of  her  slightingly  in  public  places,  and  sent  her  bouquets 
innumerable. 

Her  next  decided  action,  however,  put  an  effectual  stop  to 
this  nuisance. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

/COLONEL  COLQUHOUN  came  to  Evadne  one  day,  and 
\^  asked  her  if  she  would  not  go  out. 

She  put  down  her  work,  rose  at  once,  smiling,  and  declared 
that  she  should  be  delighted. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  215 

There  had  been  a  big  regimental  guest  night  the  day  before, 
and  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  dined  at  mess,  and  was  con 
sequently  irritable.  Acquiescence  is  as  provoking  as  opposi 
tion  to  a  man  in  that  mood,  and  he  chose  to  take  offence  at 
Evadne's  evident  anxiety  to  please  him. 

"  She  makes  quite  a  business  of  being  agreeable  to  me,"  he 
reflected  while  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  put  her  hat  on.  "  She 
requires  me  to  be  on  my  good  behaviour  as  if  I  were  a  school 
boy  out  for  a  half-holiday,  and  thinks  it  her  duty  to  entertain 
me  by  way  of  reward,  I  suppose." 

And  thereupon  he  set  himself  determinedly  against  being 
entertained,  and  accordingly,  when  Evadne  rejoined  him  and 
made  some  cheerful  remark,  he  responded  to  it  with  a  sullen 
grunt  which  did  small  credit  to  his  manners  either  as  a  man  or 
a  gentleman,  and  naturally  checked  the  endeavour  for  the 
moment  so  far  as  she  was  concerned. 

As  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  converse,  she  showed  her 
respect  for  his  mood  by  being  silent  herself.  But  this  was  too 
much  for  him.  He  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  he 
burst  out ;  "  Do  you  never  talk  ?  " 

*•  I  don't  know  !  "  she  said,  surprised.  "  Do  you  like  talka 
tive  women  ? " 

"  I  like  a  woman  to  have  something  to  say  for  herself." 

While  Evadne  was  trying  in  her  slow  way  to  see  precisely 
what  he  meant  by  this  little  outbreak,  they  met  one  of  the 
officers  of  the  regiment  escorting  a  very  showy  young  woman, 
and  as  everybody  in  Malta  knows  everybody  else  in  society, 
and  this  was  a  stranger,  Evadne  asked — more,  however,  to 
oblige  Colonel  Colquhoun  by  making  a  remark  than  because 
she  felt  the  slightest  curiosity  on  the  subject ;  "  Who  is  that 
with  Mr.  Finchley  ?  A  new  arrival,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  only  a  girl  he  brought  out  from  England  with  him," 
Colonel  Colquhoun  answered  coarsely,  staring  hard  at  the 
girl  as  he  spoke,  and  forgetting  himself  for  once  in  his  extreme 
irritability.  "  He  ought  not  to  bring  her  here,  though,"  he 
added  carelessly. 

Mr.  Finchley  had  passed  them,  hanging  his  head,  and  pre 
tending  not  to  see  them.  Evadne  flushed  crimson. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  brought  out  a  girl  he  is  not  married 
to,  and  is  living  with  her  here?"  she  asked. 

"  That  is  the  position  exactly,"  Colonel  Colquhoun  rejoined, 
"  and  I'll  see  him  in  the  orderly  room  to-morrow  and  interview 
him  on  the  subject.  He  has  no  business  to  parade  her  pub- 


2l6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

licly  where  the  other  fellows'  wives  may  meet  her  ;  and  I'll  not 
have  it." 

Evadne  said  no  more.  But  there  was  a  ball  that  evening, 
and  during  an  interval  between  the  dances,  when  she  was 
standing  beside  Colonel  Colquhoun  and  several  ladies  in  a 
prominent  position  and  much  observed,  for  it  was  just  at  the 
time  when  she  was  at  the  height  of  her  unenviable  vogue — Mr. 
Finchley  came  up  and  asked  her  to  dance. 

She  had  drawn  herself  up  proudly  as  he  approached,  and  hav 
ing  looked  at  him  deliberately,  she  turned  her  back  upon  him. 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  intention,  Colonel  Colquhoun's 
hand  paused  on  its  way  to  twirl  his  blond  moustache,  and  there 
was  a  perceptible  sensation  in  the  room. 

Captain  Belliot  shook  his  head  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
has  been  deceived  in  an  honest  endeavour  to  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  lot,  and  is  disheartened. 

"  She  took  me  in  completely,"  he  said.  "  I  should  never 
have  guessed  she  was  that  kind  of  woman.  What  is  society 
coming  to  ?  " 

"  She  must  be  deuced  nasty-minded  herself,  you  know,  or 
she  wouldn't  have  known  Finchley  had  a  woman  out  with 
him,"  said  Major  Livingston,  whom  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston 
called  "Lady  Betty "  because  of  his  nice  precise  little  ways 
with  ladies. 

"  Oh,  trust  a  prude  ! "  said  Captain  Brown.  "  They  spy 
out  all  the  beastliness  that's  going." 

Colonel  Colquhoun  did  not  take  this  last  proof  of  Evadne's 
peculiar  views  at  all  well.  He  was  becoming  even  more  sen 
sitive  as  he  grew  older  to  what  fellows  say  or  think,  and  he 
was  therefore  considerably  annoyed  by  her  conduct,  so  much 
so,  indeed,  that  he  actually  spoke  to  her  upon  the  subject 
himself. 

"People  will  say  that  I  have  married  Mrs.  Grundy,"  he 
grumbled. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  tranquilly.  "  You  see  I  do 
not  feel  at  all  about  these  things  as  you  do.  I  wish  you  could 
feel  as  I  do,  but  seeing  that  you  cannot,  it  is  fortunate,  is  it 
not,  that  we  are  not  really  married  ?" 

"  It  sounds  as  if  you  were  congratulating  yourself  upon  the 
fact  of  our  position,"  he  said. 

"But  don't  you  congratulate  yourself?"  she  answered  in 
surprise.  "  Surely  you  have  had  as  narrow  an  escape  as  I 
had  ?  you  would  have  been  miserable  too  ?  " 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  217 

He  made  no  answer.  It  is  perhaps  easier  to  resign  an  in 
ferior  husband  than  a  superior  wife. 

But  he  let  the  subject  drop  then  for  the  moment ;  only  for 
the  moment,  however,  for  later  in  the  day  he  had  a  conversa 
tion  with  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston. 

That  little  business  about  the  Clarences  had  not  interrupted 
the  intimacy  between  Colonel  Colquhoun  and  the  Guthrie 
Brimstons.  How  could  it  ?  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  was  as 
amusing  as  ever,  and  Colonel  Colquhoun  remained  in  com- 
mand  of  a  crack  regiment,  and  was  a  handsome  man,  well 
set-up  and  soldier  like  into  the  bargain.  It  was  Evadne  who 
had  caused  all  the  annoyance,  and  consequently  there  was 
really  no  excuse  for  a  rupture — especially  as  Evadne  met  the 
Guthrie  Brimstons  herself  with  as  much  complacency  as  ever. 
Colonel  Colquhoun  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's  that 
afternoon  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  the  advisability  of  get 
ting  some  experienced  woman  of  the  world  to  speak  to  Evadne 
with  a  view  to  putting  a  stop  to  her  nonsense,  and  the  consul 
tation  ended  with  an  offer  from  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  to 
undertake  the  task  herself.  Her  interference,  however,  pro 
duced  not  the  slightest  effect  on  Evadne. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THOSE  who  can  contemplate  certain  phases  of  life  and  still 
believe  that  there  is  a  Divine  Providence  ordering  all 
things  for  the  best,  will  see  its  action  in  the  combination  of 
circumstances  which  placed  Evadne  in  the  midst  of  a  com 
munity  where  she  must  meet  the  spirit  of  evil  face  to  face 
continually,  and,  since  acquiescence  was  impossible,  forced  her 
to  develop  her  own  strength  by  steady  and  determined  resist 
ance.  But  her  position  was  more  than  difficult  ;  it  was  des 
perate.  There  was  scarcely  one,  even  amongst  the  most  indul 
gent  of  her  friends,  who  did  not  misunderstand  her  and 
blame  her  at  times.  She  kept  the  pendulum  of  public  opinion 
swaying  vehemently  during  the  whole  of  her  first  season  in 
Malta.  Major  Livingston  shook  his  head  about  her  from  the 
first. 

"  I  can't  get  on  with  her,"  he  said,  as  if  the  fact  were  not 
at  all  to  her  credit.  He  was  a  survival  himself,  one  of  the  old- 
fashioned  kind  of  military  men  who  were  all  formed  on  the 
same  plan  ;  they  got  their  uniform,  their  politics,  their  vices, 


218  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

and  their  code  of  honour  cut  and  dried,  upon  entering  the 
service,  and  occasionally  left  the  latter  with  their  agents  to  be 
taken  care  of  for  them  while  they  served. 

Evadne  gave  offence  to  representatives  of  the  next  gener 
ation  also.  Seeing  that  she  was  young  and  attractive,  it  was 
clearly  her  duty  to  think  only  of  meriting  their  attention,  and 
when  she  was  discovered  time  after  time  during  a  ball  hanging 
quite  affectionately  on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Austin  B.  Price,  "  a 
dried  up  old  American,"  and  pacing  the  balcony  to  and  fro 
with  him  in  the  moonlight  by  the  hour  together  when  there 
were  plenty  of  young  fellows  who  wanted  to  dance  with  her  ; 
and  when,  worse  still,  it  was  observed  that  she  was  serenely 
happy  on  these  occasions,  listening  to  Mr.  Austin  B.  Price 
with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  or  even  and  actually  talking  herself, 
why,  they  declared  she  wasn't  womanly — she  couldn't  be  ! 

Mr.  St.  John  was  one  of  the  friends  who  very  much  depre 
cated  Evadne's  attitude  at  this  time.  He  did  not  speak  to  her 
himself,  being  diffident  and  delicate,  but  he  went  to  Mr.  Price, 
who  was,  he  knew,  quite  in  her  confidence. 

"  You  have  influence  with  her,  do  restrain  her  ; "  he  said. 
"  No  good  is  done  by  making  herself  the  subject  of  common 
gossip." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Mr.  Price  replied,  "  she  is  quite  irrespon 
sible.  Certain  powers  of  perception  have  developed  in  her  to 
a  point  beyond  that  which  has  been  reached  by  the  people 
about  her,  and  she  is  forced  to  act  up  to  what  she  perceives 
to  be  right.  They  blame  her  because  they  cannot  see  so  far 
in  advance  of  themselves,  and  she  has  small  patience  with 
them  for  not  at  once  recognizing  the  use  and  propriety  of 
what  comes  so  easily  and  naturally  to  her.  So  far,  it  is  easy 
enough  to  understand  her,  surely?  But  further  than  that  it 
is  impossible  to  go,  because  she  is  as  yet  an  incomplete 
creature  in  a  state  of  progression.  With  fair  play,  she  should 
continue  on,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  her  development  may  be 
entirely  arrested.  It  is  curious  that  priesthoods,  while  preach 
ing  perfection,  invariably  do  their  best  to  stop  progress. 
You  will  never  believe  that  any  change  is  for  the  better  until 
it  is  accomplished,  and  there  is  no  denying  it,  and  so  you 
hinder  forever  when  you  should  be  the  first  to  help  and  en 
courage  ;  and  you  are  bringing  yourselves  into  disrepute  by 
it.  Just  try  and  realize  the  difference  between  the  position 
and  powers  of  judgment  of  women  now  and  that  which 
obtained  among  them  at  the  beginning  of  the  century  ! 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  219 

think,  too,  of  the  hard  battles  they  have  had  to  fight  for  every 
inch  of  the  way  they  have  made,  and  of  the  desperate  resolu 
tion  with  which  they  have  stood  their  ground,  always  advanc 
ing,  never  receding,  and  with  supernumeraries  ready,  when 
ever  one  falls  out  exhausted,  to  step  in  and  take  her  place, 
however  dangerous  it  may  be.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  man,  women 
are  grand  ! — grand  !  " 

"But  I  don't  see  how  we  have  imposed  upon  women,"  Mr. 
St.  John  objected. 

"  I  can  show  you  in  a  minute,"  Mr.  Price  rejoined,  twitching 
his  face.  "  It  was  the  submission  business,  you  know,  to  begin 
with.  Not  so  many  years  ago  we  men  had  only  to  insist  that 
a  thing  was  either  right  or  necessary,  and  women  believed  it, 
and  meekly  acquiesced  in  it.  We  told  them  they  were  fools  to 
us,  and  they  believed  it  ;  and  we  told  them  they  were  angels 
of  light  and  purity  and  goodness  whose  mission  it  was  to  marry 
and  reform  us,  and  above  all  pity  and  sympathize  with  us  when 
we  defiled  ourselves,  because  we  couldn't  help  it,  and  they 
believed  it.  We  told  them  they  didn't  really  care  for  moral 
probity  in  man,  and  they  believed  it.  We  told  them  they  had 
no  brains,  that  they  were  illogical,  unreasoning,  and  incapable 
of  thought  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  and,  by  Jove  !  they 
took  all  that  for  granted,  such  was  their  beautiful  confidence 
in  us,  and  never  even  tried  to  think — until  one  day,  when,  quite 
by  accident,  I  feel  sure,  one  of  them  found  herself  arriving  at 
logical  conclusions  involuntarily.  Her  brain  was  a  rich  soil, 
although  unfilled,  which  began  to  teem  of  its  own  accord  ; 
and  that,  my  dear  fellow,  was  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  the 
old  state  of  things.  But  I  believe  myself  that  all  this  unrest 
and  rebellion  against  the  old  established  abuses  amongst 
women  is  simply  an  effort  of  nature  to  improve  the  race.  The 
men  of  the  present  day  will  have  a  bad  time  if  they  resist  the 
onward  impulse  ;  but,  in  any  case,  the  men  of  the  future  will 
have  good  reason  to  arise  and  call  their  mothers  blessed. 
Good-day  to  you.  Don't  interfere  with  Evadne,  and  don't 
think.  Just  watch — and — and  pray  if  you  like  !  "  The  old 
gentleman  smiled  and  twitched  his  face  when  he  had  spoken, 
and  they  shook  hands  and  parted  in  complete  disagreement, 
as  was  usually  the  case. 


THE  HEAVENLY 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WHEN  any  difference  of  opinion  arose  between  Evadne 
and  Colonel  Colquhoun  they  discussed  it  tranquilly  as  a 
rule,  and  with  much  forbearance  upon  either  side,  and  having 
done  so,  the  subject  was  allowed  to  drop.  They  each  gener 
ally  remained  of  the  same  opinion  still,  but  neither  would 
interfere  with  the  other  afterward.  Had  he  had  anything  in 
him  ;  could  he  have  made  her  feel  him  to  be  superior  in  any 
way,  she  must  have  grown  to  love  him  with  passion  once  more  ; 
but  as  it  was,  he  remained  only  an  erring  fellow-creature  in 
her  estimation,  for  whom  she  grew  gradually  to  feel  both  pity 
and  affection,  it  is  true  ;  but  toward  whom  her  attitude  gen 
erally  speaking  was  that  of  most  polite  indifference. 

She  had  her  moments  of  rage,  however.  There  were  whole 
days  when  her  patient  tolerance  of  the  position  gave  way,  and 
one  wild  longing  to  be  free  pursued  her  ;  but  she  made  no 
sign  on  such  occasions,  only  sat 

With  lips  severely  placid,  felt  the  knot 
Climb  in  her  throat,  and  with  her  foot  unseen, 
Crushed  the  wild  passion  out  against  the  floor, 
Beneath  the  banquet,  where  the  meats  become 
As  wormwood — 

and  uttered  not  a  word.  Yet  there  was  nothing  in  Colonel 
Colquhoun's  manner,  nothing  in  his  treatment  of  her,  in  the 
least  objectionable  ;  what  she  suffered  from  was  simply  con 
tact  with  an  inferior  moral  body,  and  the  intellectual  starva 
tion  inevitable  in  constant  association  with  a  mind  too  shallow 
to  contain  any  sort  of  mental  sustenance  for  the  sharing. 

The  pleasing  fact  that  he  and  Evadne  were  getting  on  very 
well  together  dawned  on  him  quite  suddenly  one  day  ;  but  it 
was  she  who  perceived  that  the  absence  of  friction  was  entirely 
due  to  the  restriction  which  polite  society  imposes  upon  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman  and  lady  in  ordinary  everyday  inter 
course  when  their  bond  is  not  the  bond  of  man  and  wife. 

"  I  should  say  we  are  very  good  friends,  Evadne,  shouldn't 
you  ?"  he  remarked,  in  a  cheerful  tone. 

"  Yes,"  she  responded  cordially. 

They  were  both  in  evening  dress  whan  this  occurred — she 
sitting  beside  a  table  with  one  bare  arm  resting  upon  it,  toying 
with  the  tassel  of  her  fan  ;  he  standing  with  his  back  to  the 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  221 

fireplace,  looking  down  upon  her.  It  was  after  dinner,  and 
they  were  lingering  over  their  coffee  until  it  should  be  time 
to  stroll  in  for  an  hour  or  so  to  the  opera. 

"  By-the-way,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  have  you  read  any  of 
those  books  I  got  for  you — any  of  the  French  ones  ?" 

Her  face  set  somewhat,  but  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  an 
swered  without  hesitation  :  "  Yes.  I  have  read  the  *  Nana,' 
La  Terre,'  '  Madame  Bovary,'  and  *  Sapho.'  " 

She  stopped  there,  and  he  then  waited  in  vain  for  her  to 
express  an  opinion. 

u  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what  has  struck  you  most  in 
them  ? " 

"  The  suffering,  George,"  she  exclaimed — "  the  awful,  need 
less  suffering  /  " 

It  was  a  veritable  cry  of  anguish,  and  as  she  spoke,  she 
threw  her  arms  forward  upon  the  table  beside  which  she 
was  sitting,  laid  her  face  down  on  them,  and  burst  into 
passsionate  sobs. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  bit  his  lip.  He  had  not  meant  to  hurt 
the  girl — in  that  way,  at  all  events.  He  took  a  step  toward 
her,  hesitated,  not  knowing  quite  what  to  do  ;  and  finally  left 
the  room. 

When  next  Evadne  went  to  her  bookshelves  she  discovered 
a  great  gap.  The  whole  of  those  dangerous  works  of  fiction 
had  disappeared. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

pOLONEL  COLQUHOUN  had  gradually  fallen  into  the 
\^  habit  of  riding  out  or  walking  alone  with  Mrs.  Guthrie 
Brimston  continually,  and  of  course  people  began  to  make 
much  of  the  intimacy,  and  to  talk  of  the  way  he  neglected  his 
poor  young  wife  ;  but  the  only  part  of  the  arrangement  which 
was  not  agreeable  to  the  latter  was  having  to  entertain  Major 
Guthrie  Brimston  sometimes  during  his  lady's  absence,  and  the 
lady  herself  when  she  stayed  to  tea.  For  there  was  really  no 
harm  in  the  flirtation,  as  Evadne  was  acute  enough  to  perceive. 
Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  was  one  of  those  women  who  pride 
themselves  upon  having  a  train  of  admirers,  and  are  not  above 
robbing  other  women  of  the  companionship  of  their  husbands 
in  order  to  swell  their  own  following  ;  while  many  men  rather 
affect  the  society  of  these  ladies  because  "  They  are  not  a  bit 
stiff,  you  know,"  and  allow  a  certain  laxity  of  language  which 


222  THE  HEAVENLY  TWItfS. 

is  particularly  piquant  to  the  masculine  mind  when  the  com 
placent  lady  is  no  relation  and  is  really  "  all  right  herself,  you 
know." 

Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  was  "  really  quite  right,  you  know." 
She  and  her  husband  understood  each  other  perfectly,  while 
Evadne,  on  her  part,  was  content  to  know  that  Colonel  Col- 
quhoun  was  so  innocently  occupied.  For  she  was  beginning 
to  think  of  him  as  a  kind  of  big  child,  of  weak  moral  pur 
pose,  for  whose  good  behaviour  she  would  be  held  responsible, 
and  it  was  a  relief  when  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  took  him  off 
her  hands. 

No  healthy-minded  human  being  likes  to  dwell  on  the  misery 
which  another  is  suffering  or  has  suffered,  and  it  is,  therefore,  a 
comfort  to  know  that  upon  the  whole,  at  this  period  of  her  life, 
Evadne  was  not  at  all  unhappy.  She  had  her  friends,  her  pleas 
ures,  and  her  occupations  ;  the  latter  being  multifarious.  The 
climate  of  Malta,  at  that  time  of  the  year,  suited  her  to  perfec 
tion,  and  the  picturesque  place,  with  its  romantic  history  and 
strange  traditions,  was  in  itself  an  unfailing  source  of  interest 
and  delight  to  her. 

Dear  old  Mrs.  Beale  had  kept  her  heart  from  hardening  into 
bitterness  just  by  loving  her,  and  giving  her  a  good  motherly 
hug  now  and  then.  When  Evadne  was  inclined  to  rail  she 
would  say  :  "  Pity  the  wicked  people,  my  dear,  pity  them. 
Pity  does  more  good  in  the  world  than  blame,  however  well 
deserved.  You  may  soften  a  sinner  by  pitying  him,  but  never 
by  hard  words  ;  and  once  you  melt  into  the  mood  of  pity  your 
self,  you  will  be  able  to  endure  things  which  would  otherwise 
drive  you  mad." 

Mrs.  Malcomson  helped  her  too.  During  that  first  burst  of 
unpopularity  which  she  brought  upon  herself  by  daring  to  act 
upon  her  own  perception  of  right  and  wrong  in  defiance  of  the 
old  established  injustices  of  society,  when  even  the  most  kindly 
disposed  hung  back  suspiciously,  not  knowing  what  danger 
ous  sort  of  a  new  creature  she  might  eventually  prove  herself 
to  be — at  the  earliest  mutter  of  that  storm,  Mrs.  Malcomson 
came  forward  boldly  to  support  Evadne  ;  and  so  also  did  Mrs. 
Sillinger. 

Mr.  St.  John  was  another  of  Evadne's  particular  friends. 
He  had  injured  his  health  by  excessive  devotion  to  his  duties, 
and  been  sent  to  Malta  in  the  hope  that  the  warm  bright  cli 
mate  might  strengthen  his  chest,  which  was  his  weak  point, 
and  restore  him  ;  but  it  was  not  really  the  right  place  for  him, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  223 

and  he  had  continued  delicate  throughout  the  winter,  and 
required  little  attentions  which  Evadne  was  happily  able  to 
pay  him  ;  and  in  this  way  their  early  acquaintance  had  rap 
idly  ripened  into  intimacy.  He  was  a  clever  man  in  his  own 
profession,  of  exceptional  piety,  but  narrow,  which  did  not, 
however,  prevent  him  from  being  congenial  to  one  side  of 
Evadne's  nature.  She  had  never  doubted  her  religion.  It 
was  a  thing  apart  from  all  her  knowledge  and  opinions,  some 
thing  to  be  f eft,  essentially,  not  known  as  anything  but  a  pleas 
urable  and  elevating  sensation,  or  considered  except  in  the 
way  of  referring  all  that  is  noble  in  thought  and  action  to  the 
divine  nature  of  its  origin  and  influence  ;  and  she  preserved 
her  deep  reverence  for  the  priesthood  intact,  and  found  both 
comfort  and  spiritual  sustenance  in  their  ministrations.  She 
still  leaned  to  ritual,  and  Mr.  St.  John  was  a  ritualist,  so 
that  they  had  much  in  common  ;  and  while  she  was  able  to 
pay  him  many  attentions  and  show  him  great  kindness,  for  the 
want  of  which,  as  a  bachelor  and  an  invalid  in  a  foreign  place, 
he  must  have  suffered  in  his  feeble  state  of  health,  he  had  it 
in  his  power  to  take  her  out  of  herself.  She  said  she  was 
always  the  better  for  a  talk  with  him  ;  and  certainly  the  deli 
cate  dishes  and  wines  and  care  generally  which  she  lavished 
upon  him  had  as  much  to  do  as  the  climate  with  the  benefit 
he  derived  from  his  sojourn  in  Malta.  They  remained  firm 
friends  always ;  and  many  years  afterward,  when  he  had 
become  one  of  the  most  distinguished  bishops  on  the  bench, 
he  was  able,  from  the  knowledge  and  appreciation  of  her 
character  which  he  had  gained  in  these  early  days,  to  do  her 
signal  service,  and  save  her  from  much  stupid  misrepresenta 
tion. 

And  last,  among  her  friends,  although  one  of  the  greatest, 
was  Mr.  Austin  B.  Price.  Evadne  owed  this  kind,  large- 
hearted,  chivalrous  gentleman  much  gratitude,  and  repaid 
him  with  much  affection.  He  was  really  the  first  to  discover 
that  there  was  anything  remarkable  about  her  ;  and  it  was  to 
him  she  also  owed  a  considerable  further  development  of  her 
originally  feeble  sense  of  humour. 

Mr.  Price's  first  impression  that  she  was  an  uncommon  char 
acter  had  been  confirmed  by  one  of  those  rapid  phrases  of  hers 
which  contained  in  a  few  words  the  embodiment  of  feelings 
familiar  to  a  multitude  of  people  who  have  no  power  to  express 
them.  She  delivered  it  the  third  time  they  met,  which  hap 
pened  to  be  at  another  of  those  afternoon  dances,  held  on 


224  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

board  the  flag  ship  on  that  occasion.  Colonel  Colquhoun 
liked  her  to  show  herself  although  she  did  not  dance  in  the 
afternoon,  so  she  was  there,  sitting  out,  and  Mr.  Price  was 
courteously  endeavouring  to  entertain  her. 

"  It  surprises  me,"  he  said,  "  as  an  American,  to  find  so  little 
inclination  in  your  free  and  enlightened  country  to  do  away 
with  your — politically  speaking — useless  and  extremely  expen 
sive  Royal  House." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Evadne,  "  we  are  deeply  attached  to 
our  Royal  House,  and  we  can  well  afford  to  keep  it  up." 

It  was  this  glimpse  of  the  heart  of  the  proud  and  patriotic 
little  aristocrat,  true  daughter  of  a  nation  great  enough  to  dis 
dain  small  economies,  and  not  accustomed  to  do  without  any 
luxury  to  which  it  is  attached,  that  appealed  to  Mr.  Price, 
pleasing  the  pride  of  race  with  which  we  contemplate  any 
evidence  of  strength  in  our  fellow-creatures,  whether  it  be 
strength  of  purpose  or  strength  of  passion,  more  than  it 
shocked  his  utilitarian  prejudices. 

When  it  was  evident  that  Evadne  had  brought  a  good  deal 
that  was  disagreeable  upon  herself  by  her  action  in  the  matter 
of  the  Clarences,  old  Mrs.  Beale  came  to  her  one  day  in  all 
kindliness  to  tell  her  the  private  opinion  of  the  friends  who 
had  stood  by  her  loyally  in  public. 

"  I  am  sure  you  did  it  with  the  best  motive,  my  dear,  and  it 
was  bravely  done,"  the  old  lady  said,  patting  her  hand  ;  "  but 
be  advised  by  those  who  know  the  world,  and  have  had  more 
experience  than  you  have  had.  Don't  interfere  again.  Inter 
ference  does  no  good  ;  and  people  will  say  such  things  if 
you  do !  They  will  make  you  pay  for  your  disinterest 
edness." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  question  is  not  Shall  I  have  to 
pay  ?  but  Am  I  not  bound  to  pay?  "  Evadne  rejoined.  "  Neg 
lecting  to  do  what  is,  to  me,  obviously  the  right  thing,  and 
making  no  endeavour  but  such  as  is  sure  to  be  applauded — 
working  in  the  hope  of  a  reward,  in  fact,  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
terribly  old-fashioned  idea,  miserable  remnant  of  the  bribery 
and  corruption  of  the  Dark  Ages,  when  the  people  were  kept 
in  such  dense  ignorance  that  they  could  be  treated  like  chil 
dren,  and  told  if  they  were  good  they  should  have  this  for  a 
prize,  but  if  they  were  bad  they  should  be  punished." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  I  am  sure,  my  dear,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Beale  ;  "  but  all  the  same.  T  don't  think  I  should  interfere 
again,  if  I  were  you." 


TH&  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  22$ 

"  It  seems  that  I  have  not  done  the  Clarences  any  good," 
Evadne  murmured  one  day  to  Mr.  Price. 

"  Well,  that  was  hardly  to  be  expected,"  he  answered — at 
which  she  raised  hei  eyebrows  interrogatively.  "Calumnies 
which  attach  themselves  to  a  name  in  a  moment  take  a  life 
time  to  remove,  because  such  a  large  majority  of  people  prefei 
to  think  the  worst  of  each  other.  The  Clarences  will  have  to 
live  down  their  own  little  difficulty.  And  what  you  have  to 
consider  now  is,  not  how  little  benefit  they  have  derived  from 
your  brave  defence  of  them,  but  how  many  other  people  you 
may  have  saved  from  similar  attacks.  I  fancy  it  will  be  some 
time  before  people  will  venture  to  spread  scandals  of  the  kind 
here  in  Malta  again.  You  have  taught  them  a  lesson  ;  you 
may  be  sure  of  that ;  so  don't  be  disheartened  and  lose 
sight  of  the  final  result  in  consideration  of  immediate  conse 
quences.  The  hard  part  of  teaching  is  that  the  teacher  him 
self  seldom  sees  anything  of  the  good  he  has  done." 

It  was  very  evident  at  this  time  that  Evadne's  view  of  life 
was  becoming  much  too  serious  for  her  own  good  ;  and,  per 
ceiving  this,  Mr.  Price  let  fall  some  words  one  day  in  the 
course  of  conversation  which  she  afterward  treasured  in  her 
heart  to  great  advantage.  "  It  is  our  duty  to  be  happy,"  he 
said.  "  Every  human  being  is  entitled  to  a  certain  amount  of 
pleasure  in  life.  But,  in  order  to  be  happy,  you  must  think 
of  the  world  as  a  mischievous  big  child  ;  let  your  attitude  be 
one  of  amused  contempt  so  long  as  you  detect  no  vice  in  the 
mischief ;  once  you  do,  however,  if  you  have  the  gift  of  lan 
guage,  use  it,  lash  out  unmercifully  !  And  don't  desist  because 
the  creature  howls  at  you.  The  louder  it  howls  the  more  you 
may  congratulate  yourself  that  you  have  touched  it  on  the 
right  spot,  which  is  sure  to  be  tender." 

But  he  did  not  limit  his  kindly  attentions  to  the  giving  of 
good  advice  ;  in  fact,  he  very  seldom  gave  advice  at  all ;  what 
he  chiefly  did  was  to  devise  distractions  for  her  which  should 
take  her  out  of  herself ;  and  one  of  these  was  a  children's 
party  which  he  induced  her  to  give  at  Christmas. 

The  party  was  to  take  place  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  the 
whole  of  the  day  before  and  far  into  the  night  the  Colquhoun 
house  was  thronged  with  actors  rehearsing  charades  and 
tableaux,  and  officers  painting  and  preparing  decorations,  and 
putting  them  up.  All  were  in  the  highest  spirits  ;  the  talk 
and  laughter  were  incessant ;  the  work  was  being  done  with  a 
will,  and  none  of  them  looked  as  if  they  had  ever  had  a  sor- 


226  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

rowful  thought  in  their  lives — least  of  all  Evadne,  whose 
gaiety  seemed  the  most  spontaneous  of  all. 

Late  at  night  she  had  come  to  the  hall  with  nails  for  the 
decorators,  and  was  handing  them  up  as  they  were  wanted  by 
those  on  the  ladders.  The  men  were  in  their  shirt  sleeves,  the 
most  becoming  dress  that  a  gentleman  ever  appears  in  ;  and 
during  a  pause  she  happened  to  notice  Colonel  Colquhoun, 
who  had  stepped  back  to  judge  the  effect  of  some  drapery  he 
was  putting  up.  Mr.  Price  was  a  little  behind  him,  and  two 
of  the  younger  men,  the  three  making  an  excellent  foil  to 
Colonel  Colquhoun.  Evadne  was  struck  by  the  contrast. 
The  outside  aspect  of  the  man  still  pleased  her.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  he  was  a  fine  specimen  of  his  species,  a  splendid 
animal  to  look  at ;  what  a  pity  he  should  have  had  a  regrettable 
past,  the  kind  of  past,  too,  which  can  never  be  over  and  done 
with  !  A  returned  convict  is  always  a  returned  convict,  and  a 
vicious  man  reformed  is  not  repaired  by  the  process.  The 
stigma  is  in  his  blood. 

Evadne  sighed.  She  was  too  highly  tempered,  well-balanced 
a  creature  to  be  the  victim  of  any  one  passion,  and  least  of  all 
of  that  transient  state  of  feeling  miscalled  "  Love."  Physical 
attraction,  moral  repulsion  :  that  was  what  she  was  suffering 
from  ;  and  now  involuntarily  she  sighed — a  sigh  of  rage  for 
what  might  have  been  ;  and  just  at  that  moment,  Colonel  Col 
quhoun,  happening  to  look  at  her,  found  her  eyes  fixed  on 
him  with  a  strange  expression.  Was  there  going  to  be  a 
chance  for  him  after  all  ? 

He  did  not  understand  Evadne.  He  had  no  conception  of 
the  human  possibility  of  anything  so  perfect  as  her  self-control ; 
and  when  she  showed  no  feeling,  he  took  it  for  granted  that  it 
was  because  she  had  none.  But  during  the  games  next  day 
he  obtained  a  glimpse  of  her  heart  which  surprised  him.  She 
had  paid  a  forfeit,  and,  in  order  to  redeem  it,  she  was  requested 
to  state  her  favourite  names,  gentlemen's  and  ladies'. 

"  Barbara,  Evelyn,  Julia,  Elizabeth,  Pauline,  Mary,  Bertram, 
and  Evrard,"  she  answered  instantly.  "  I  do  not  know  if  I 
think  them  the  most  beautiful  names,  but  they  are  the  ones 
that  I  love  the  best,  and  have  always  in  my  mind." 

Colonel  Colquhoun's  countenance  set  upon  this.  They  were 
the  names  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  whom  she  never  men 
tioned  to  him  by  any  chance,  and  whom  he  had  not  imagined 
that  she  ever  thought  of ;  yet  it  seemed  that  they  were  always 
in  her  mind  !  He  had  so  little  conception  of  the  depth  and 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS,  227 

tenderness  of  her  nature,  or  of  her  fidelity,  that  had  he  been 
required  to  put  his  feelings  on  the  subject  into  words  before 
this  revelation,  he  would,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  have 
declared  her  to  be  cold,  and  wanting  in  natural  affection,  a 
girl  with  "  views,"  and  no  heart.  But  after  this,  a  few  ques 
tions  and  a  very  little  observation  served  to  convince  him  that 
she  not  only  cared  for  her  friends,  especially  her  brothers  and 
sisters,  but  fretted  for  their  companionship  continually  in 
secret,  and  felt  the  separation  all  the  more  because  her  father's 
harsh  prohibition  was  still  in  force,  and  none  of  them  were 
allowed  to  write  to  her,  her  mother  excepted,  whose  letters, 
however,  came  but  rarely  now,  and  were  always  unsatisfactory. 
The  truth  was  that  the  poor  lady  had  relapsed  into  slavery, 
and  been  nagged  into  an  outward  show  of  acquiescence  in  her 
husband's  original  mandate  which  forbade  her  to  correspond 
with  her  recalcitrant  daughter  ;  and,  in  her  attempts  to  conceal 
her  relapse  from  the  latter,  and  at  the  same  time  to  keep  Mr. 
Frayling  quiet  under  the  conviction  that  her  submission  was 
genuine,  the  style  of  her  letters  suffered  considerably,  and 
their  numbers  tended  always  to  diminish.  But  the  thing  that 
touched  Colonel  Colquhoun  was  the  care  which  Evadne  had 
taken  to  conceal  her  trouble  from  him,  the  fact  that  she  had 
not  allowed  a  single  complaint  to  escape  her,  or  made  a  sign 
that  might  have  worried  him  by  implying .  a  reproach.  He 
had  his  moments  of  good  feeling,  however,  and  his  kindly 
impulses  too,  being,  as  already  asserted,  anything  but  a 
monster ;  and  under  the  influence  of  one  of  them,  he  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  sharp  remonstrance  to  Mr.  Frayling,  which,  how 
ever,  only  drew  from  that  gentleman  an  expression  of  his 
sincere  admiration  for  his  son-in-law's  generous  disposition, 
and  of  his  regret  that  a  daughter  of  his  should  behave  so  badly 
to  one  who  could  show  himself  so  nobly  forgiving,  with  a 
reiteration  of  his  determination,  however,  not  to  countenance 
her  until  she  should  "  come  to  her  senses  " — so  that  no  actual 
good  was  done,  although  doubtless  Colonel  Colquhoun  him 
self  was  the  better  for  acting  on  the  impulse. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  he  became  aware  of  the  fact  that 
Evadne  had  gradually  formed  a  party  of  her  own,  and  was 
making  his  house  a  centre  of  attraction  to  all  the  best  people 
in  the  place.  He  knew  that  such  support  was  an  evidence  of 
her  strength,  and  would  only  confirm  her  in  her  "  views," 
especially  when  even  those  who  had  opposed  her  most  bitterly 
at  first  were  caught  intriguing  to  get  into  the  Colquhoun 


228  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

house  clique ;  but  naturally  he  was  gratified  by  a  position 
which  reflected  credit  upon  himself  ;  his  respect  for  Evadne 
increased,  and  consequently  they  became,  if  possible,  better 
friends  than  ever. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

ON  the  day  following  her  children's  party,  Evadne  went  to 
see  Edith.  She  always  went  there  when  she  felt  brain- 
fagged  and  world-weary,  and  came  away  refreshed.  Edith's 
ignorance  of  life  amazed  and  perplexed  her.  She  thought  it 
foolish,  and  she  thought  it  unsafe  for  a  mature  young  woman 
to  know  no  more  of  the  world  than  a  child  does,  but  still  she 
shrank  from  sharing  the  pain  of  her  own  knowledge  with  her, 
and  had  never  had  the  heart  to  say  a  word  that  might  disturb 
her  beautiful  serenity.  She  showed  some  selfishness  in  that. 
She  could  be  a  child  in  mind  again  with  Edith,  and  only  with 
Edith,  and  it  was  really  for  her  own  pleasure  that  she  avoided 
all  serious  discussion  with  the  latter,  although  she  firmly  per 
suaded  herself  that  it  was  entirely  out  of  deference  to  Mrs. 
Beale's  wishes  and  prejudices. 

She  owed  a  great  deal,  as  has  already  been  said,  to  Mrs. 
Beale.  When  her  attitude  began  to  attract  attention  and  pro 
voked  criticism,  the  old  lady  declined  emphatically  to  hear  a 
word  against  her  from  anybody,  and  so  supported  her  in 
public ;  while  in  private  the  influence  of  her  sweet  old- 
fashioned  womanliness  was  restraining  in  the  way  that  Mrs. 
Orton  Beg  had  foreseen  ;  it  was  a  check  upon  Evadne,  and 
prevented  her  from  going  too  far  and  fast  at  a  time.  Argu 
ment  would  not  have  hindered  her ;  but  when  Mrs.  Beale  was 
present,  she  often  suppressed  a  fire-brand  of  a  phrase,  because 
it  would  have  wounded  her. 

As  she  went  out  that  afternoon  she  met  old  Lord  Groome 
on  the  doorstep,  just  coming  to  call  on  her,  and  hesitated  a 
moment  between  asking  him  in  or  allowing  him  to  accompany 
her  as  far  as  Mrs.  Beale's,  but  decided  on  the  latter  because 
she  would  get  rid  of  him  so  much  the  sooner.  Her  attitude 
toward  him,  however,  was  kindly  and  tolerant  as  a  rule,  and 
she  was  even  amused  by  his  curious  conceit.  He  was  always 
ready  to  express  what  he  called  an  opinion  on  any  subject, 
but  more  especially  when  it  bore  reference  to  legislation  and 
the  government  of  peoples  generally,  for  he  was  comfortably 
confident  that  he  had  inherited  the  brain  power  necessary  for 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS,  229 

a  legislator  as  well  as  a  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords  and  the 
position  of  one — a  pardonable  error,  surely,  since  it  is  so  very 
common.  Socially  he  lived  in  a  comfortable  conception  of 
the  fitness  of  things  that  were  agreeable  to  him,  morally  he  did 
not  exist  at  all,  religiously  he  supported  the  Established 
Church,  and  politically  he  believed  in  every  antiquated  error 
still  extant,  in  which  respect  most  of  his  friends  resembled  him. 

"  Ah,  and  so  you  are  going  to  see  Miss  Beale  ?  That's 
right,"  he  observed  patronisingly.  "  I  like  to  see  one  young 
lady  with  her  work  in  her  hand  tripping  in  to  sit  and  chat  with 
another,  and  while  away  the  long  hours  till  the  gentlemen 
return.  One  can  imagine  all  their  little  jests  and  confidences. 
Young  ladyhood  is  charming  to  contemplate." 

The  implication  that  a  young  lady  has  no  great  interest  in 
life  but  in  "the  return  of  the  gentlemen,"  and  that,  while 
awaiting  them,  her  pursuits  must  -of  necessity  be  petty  and 
trivial,  both  amused  and  provoked  Evadne,  and  she  answered 
with  a  dry  enigmatical,  "  Yes-s-s." 

A  few  steps  further  on,  they  overtook  that  soft-voiced  person 
of  "  singular  views,"  Mrs.  Malcomson,  from  whom  Lord 
Groome  would  have  fled  had  he  seen  her  in  time,  for  they 
detested  each  other  cordially,  and  she  never  spared  him.  She 
was  strolling  along  alone  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  humming  a 
little  tune  to  herself,  and  thinking.  There  was  a  tinge  of 
colour  in  her  cheeks,  for  the  air  was  fresh  for  Malta;  her  eyes 
were  bright,  her  hair  as  usual  had  broken  from  bondage  into 
little  brown  curls,  all  crisp  and  shining,  on  her  forehead  and 
neck,  and  her  lips  were  parted  as  if  they  only  waited  for  an 
excuse  to  break  into  a  smile.  A  healthier,  pleasanter,  happier, 
handsomer  young  woman  Lord  Groome  could  not  have  wished 
to  encounter,  and  consequently  his  disapproval  of  those  "  ab 
surd  new-fangled  notions  of  hers"  which  were  "  an  effectual 
bar,  sir,"  as  he  said  himself,  "  the  kind  of  thing  that  destroys 
a  woman's  charm,  and  makes  it  impossible  to  get  on  with  her," 
mounted  to  his  forehead  in  a  frown  of  perplexity. 

"  What  are  you  so  busy  about?  "  Evadne  asked  her. 

"  My  profession,"  she  answered  laconically. 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  Lord  Groome  inquired,  with  that 
ponderous  affectation  of  playfulness  which  he  believed  to  be 
acceptable  to  women. 

"  The  Higher  Education  of  Man,"  she  rejoined,  then  darted 
down  a  side  street,  laughing. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  intimate  with  that  lady,"  Lord 


230  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Groome  observed  severely.  "  You  must  not  allow  yourself 
to  be  bitten  by  her  revolutionary  ideas.  She  is  a  dangerous 
person." 

"  Not '  revo  ' — but  evolutionary,"  Evadne  answered,  smiling. 
"Yes.  Mrs.  Malcomson  has  taught  me  a  great  deal.  She  is 
a  very  remarkable  person.  The  world  will  hear  more  of  her, 
I  am  sure,  and  be  all  the  better  for  her  passage  through  it. 
But  here  we  are.  Thank  you  for  accompanying  me.  What  a 
hot  afternoon  !  Good-bye  !  " 

She  shook  hands  with  him,  then  opened  the  door  and  walked 
in,  leaving  him  outside. 

He  felt  the  dismissal  somewhat  summary,  but  shrugged  his 
shoulders  philosophically  and  walked  on,  reflecting,  apropos  of 
Mrs.  Malcomson  :  "  That's  just  the  way  with  women  !  When 
they  begin  to  have  ideas  they  spread  them  everywhere,  and  all 
the  other  women  in  the  neighbourhood  catch  them,  and  are 
spoiled  by  them." 

Evadne's  spirits  had  risen  in  the  open  air,  but  the  moment 
she  found  herself  alone  a  reaction  set  in. 

The  hall  was  dark  and  cool,  and  she  stopped  there,  think 
ing — Oh,  the  dissatisfaction  of  it  all  ! 

There  were  no  servants  about,  and  the  house  seemed  curi 
ously  still.  She  heard  the  ripple  of  running  water  from  an 
unseen  fountain  somewhere,  and  the  intermittent  murmur  of 
voices  in  a  room  close  by,  but  there  is  a  silence  that  broods 
above  such  sounds,  and  this  it  was  that  Evadne  felt. 

Close  to  where  she  stood  was  a  divan  with  some  tall  foliage 
plants  behind  it,  and  she  sat  down  there,  and,  leaning  forward 
with  her  arms  resting  on  her  knees,  began  listlessly  to  trace 
out  the  pattern  of  the  pavement  with  the  point  of  her  parasol. 
She  had  no  notion  why  she  was  lingering  there  alone,  when 
she  had  come  out  for  the  sole  purpose  of  not  being  alone;  but 
the  will  to  do  anything  else  had  suddenly  forsaken  her.  Her 
mind,  however,  had  become  curiously  active  all  at  once,  in  a 
jerky,  disconnected  sort  of  way. 

"  Lord  Groome — thank  Heaven  for  having  got  rid  of  him 
so  easily  !  I  was  afraid  it  would  be  more  difficult.  Poor 
foolish  old  man  !  Yes.  It  is  ridiculous  that  the  destinies  of 
nations  should  hang  on  the  size  of  one  man'  s  liver.  Where 
did  I  hear  that  now  ?  It  seems  as  old — old — as  the  iniquity 
itself.  Subjects  get  into  the  air — I  heard  someone  say  that 
too,  by-the-way — here — soon  after  I  came  out.  Who  was  it  ? 
Qh — the  dance  on  the  Abomination.  Mrs.  Malcomson  and  Mr. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  231 

Price.  He  said  subjects  were  diseases  which  got  into  the  air; 
she  said  they  were  more  like  perfumes.  Now,  /  should  not 
have  compared  them  with  either " 

The  door  of  the  room  where  the  voices  had  been  murmur 
ing  intermittently  opened  at  that  moment,  and  Edith  came 
out,  followed  by  Menteith. 

It  was  a  vision  which  Evadne  never  forgot. 

Edith  was  dressed  in  ivory  white,  and  wore  a  brooch  of 
turquoise  and  diamonds  at  her  throat,  a  buckle  of  the  same  at 
her  waist,  and  a  very  handsome  ring,  also  of  turquoise  and 
diamonds,  on  the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand.  Evadne  took 
the  ornaments  in  at  a  glance.  She  had  seen  all  that  Edith 
had  hitherto  possessed,  and  these  were  new;  but  she  did  not 
for  a  moment  attach  any  significance  to  the  fact.  It  was 
Edith's  radiant  face  that  riveted  her  attention.  A  bright  flush 
flickered  on  her  delicate  cheek,  deepening  or  fading  at  every 
breath;  her  large  eyes  floated  in  light;  even  the  bright  strands 
of  her  yellow  hair  shone  with  unusual  lustre;  her  step  was  so 
buoyant  she  scarcely  seemed  to  touch  the  ground  at  all;  she 
was  all  shy  smiles;  and  as  she  came,  with  her  slender  white 
right  hand  she  played  with  the  new  ring  she  wore  on  her  left, 
fingering  it  nervously.  But  anyone  more  ecstatically  happy 
than  she  seemed  it  is  impossible  to  imagine.  Menteith  could 
not  take  his  eyes  off  her.  He  seemed  to  gloat  over  every  item 
of  her  appearance. 

"Oh,  here  is  Evadne!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  wel 
come,  running  up  to  the  latter  and  kissing  her  with  peculiar 
tenderness.  Then  she  turned  and  looked  up  at  Menteith, 
then  back  again  at  Evadne,  wanting  to  say  something,  but  not 
liking  to. 

With  a  start  of  surprise,  Evadne  awoke  to  the  significance 
of  all  this,  and  she  knew,  too,  what  was  expected  of  her;  but 
she  could  not  say,  "  I  congratulate  you  !  "  try  as  she  would. 
"  I  will  wait  for  you  in  the  drawing  room,"  was  all  she  was  able 
to  gasp,  and  she  hastened  off  in  that  direction  as  she  spoke. 

"  How  can  you  care  so  much  for  that  cold,  unsympathetic 
woman?"  Menteith  exclaimed. 

"  She  is  not  cold  and  unsympathetic,"  Edith  rejoined  em 
phatically.  "  I  am  afraid  there  is  something  wrong.  I  must 
go  and  see  what  it  is.  O  Mosley  !  I  feel  all  chilled  '  It  is 
a  bad  omen  !  " 

"  This  is  a  bad  damp  hall,"  he  answered,  laughing  at  her, 
"you  are  too  sensitive  to  changes  of  temperature." 


232  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

It  seemed  so  really,  for  her  colour  had  faded,  and  she  had 
not  recovered  it  when  she  appeared  in  the  drawing  room. 

Evadne  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  alone,  wait 
ing  for  her. 

"  Edith  !  You  are  not  going  to  marry  that  dreadful  man  ?" 
she  exclaimed. 

Edith  stopped  short,  astonished. 

"Dreadful  man!1'  she  gasped.  "You  must  be  mad, 
Evadne  !  " 

Mrs.  Beale  came  into  the  room  just  as  Edith  uttered  these 
words,  and  overheard  them.  She  had  been  on  the  point  of 
happy  smiles  and  tears,  expecting  kind  congratulations,  but  at 
the  tone  of  Edith's  voice  almost  more  than  at  what  she  had 
said,  and  at  the  sight  of  the  two  girls  standing  a  little  apart 
looking  into  each  other's  faces  in  alarm  and  horror,  her  own 
countenance  changed,  and  an  expression  of  blank  inquiry  suc 
ceeded  the  smiles,  and  dried  the  tears. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Beale  !  "  Evadne  entreated  ;  "  you  are  not  going 
to  let  Edith  marry  that  dreadful  man  !  " 

"  Mother  !  she  will  keep  saying  that  !  "  Edith  exclaimed. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  Mrs.  Beale  said 
gently  to  Evadne,  taking  her  hand. 

"  I  mean  that  he  is  bad — thoroughly  bad,"  said  Evadne. 

"  Why  !  Now  tell  me,  what  do  you  know  about  him  ?  "  the 
old  lady  asked,  leading  Evadne  to  a  sofa,  and  making  her  sit 
down  beside  her  upon  it.  Her  manner  was  always  excessively 
soothing,  and  the  first  heat  of  Evadne's  indignation  began  to 
subside  as  she  came  under  the  influence  of  it. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  him,"  she  answered  confusedly  ; 
"  but  I  don't  like  the  way  he  looks  at  me  !  " 

"  Oh,  come,  now  !  that  is  childish  !  "  Mrs.  Beale  said, 
smiling. 

"  No,  it  is  not  !  I  am  sure  it  is  not  !  "  Evadne  rejoined, 
knitting  her  brows  in  a  fruitless  endeavour  to  grasp  some  idea 
that  evaded  her,  some  item  of  information  that  had  slipped 
from  her  mind.  "  I  feel — I  have  a  consciousness  which  informs 
me  of  things  my  intellect  cannot  grasp.  And  I  do  know  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  her  mental  vision  clearing  as  she  proceeded. 
"  I  have  heard  Colonel  Colquhoun  drop  hints." 

*'  And  you  would  condemn  him  upon  hints  ?  "  Edith  inter 
jected  contemptuously. 

"  I  know  that  if  Colonel  Colquhoun  hints  that  there  is 
something  objectionable  about  a  man  it  must  be  something 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  233 

very  objectionable  indeed,"  Evadne  answered,  cooling   sud 
denly. 

Edith  turned  crimson. 

"  Evadne — dear"  Mrs.  Beale  remonstrated,  patting  her  hand 
emphatically  to  restrain  her.  "  Edith  has  accepted  him  because 
she  loves  him,  and  that  is  enough." 

"  If  it  were  love  it  would  be,"  Evadne  answered.  "  But  it 
is  not  love  she  feels.  Prove  to  her  that  this  man  is  not  a  fit 
companion  for  her,  and  she  will  droop  for  a  while,  and  then 
recover.  The  same  thing  would  happen  if  you  separated  them 
for  years  without  breaking  off  the  engagement.  Love  which 
lasts  is  a  condition  of  the  mature  mind  ;  it  is  a  fine  compound 
of  inclination  and  knowledge,  controlled  by  reason,  which 
makes  the  object  of  it,  not  a  thing  of  haphazard,  but  a  matter 
of  choice.  Mrs.  Beale,"  she  reiterated,  "  you  will  not  let  Edith 
marry  that  dreadful  man  !  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  Mrs.  Beale  replied,  speaking  with  angelic  *i 
mildness,  "  your  mind  is  quite  perverted  on  this  subject,  and 
how  it  comes  to  be  so  I  cannot  imagine,  for  your  mother  is  one 
of  the  sweetest,  truest,  most  long  suffering  womanly  women  I 
ever  knew.  And  so  is  Lady  Adeline  Hamilton-Wells — and 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg.  You  have  been  brought  up  among  womanly 
women,  none  of  whom  ever  even  thought  such  things  as  you 
do  not  hesitate  to  utter,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  once  heard  a  discussion  between  Lady  Adeline  and  Aunt 
Olive,"  Evadne  rejoined.  "  It  was  about  a  lady  who  had  a 
very  bad  husband,  and  had  patiently  endured  a  great  deal. 
4  it  is  beautiful — pathetic — pitiful  to  see  a  woman  making  the 
best  of  a  bad  bargain  in  that  way,'  Aunt  Olive  said.  '  It  may 
be  all  that,'  Lady  Adeline  answered;  'but  is  it  right?  If 
this  generation  would  object  to  bad  bargains,  the  next  would 
have  fewer  to  make  the  best  of.'  " 

"  Ah,  that  is  so  like  dear  Adeline  !  "  Mrs.  Beale  observed. 
"  But  what  a  memory  you  have,  my  dear,  to  be  able  to  give  the 
exact  words  ! " 

Evadne's  countenance  fell.  She  was  disheartened,  but  still 
she  persisted. 

"It  is  you  good  women,"  she  said,  clasping  Mrs.  Beale's 
hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  holding  it  to  her  breast  :  "  It  is  you 
good  women  who  make  marriage  a  lottery  for  us.  You,  for 
instance.  Because  you  drew  a  prize  yourself,  you  see  no 
reason  why  every  other  woman  should  not  be  equally  for 
tunate." 


234  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  I  think,  when  people  make  quite  sure  beforehand  that  they 
love  each  other,  they  are  safe — even  when  the  man  has  not  been 
all  that  he  ought  to  have  been.  Love  is  a  great  purifier,  and 
love  for  a  good  woman  has  saved  many  a  man,"  Mrs.  Beale 
declared  with  the  fervour  of  full  conviction. 

"  That  is  presuming  that  a  man  '  who  has  not  been  all  that 
he  ought  to  have  been  "  is  still  able  to  love,"  said  Evadne, 
"  which  is  not  the  case.  We  are  all  endowed  with  the  power 
to  begin  with  ;  but  love  is  a  delicate  essence,  as  volatile  as  it 
is  delicious  ;  and  when  a  man's  moral  fibre  is  loosened,  his 
share  of  love  escapes.  But  this  is  not  the  point,"  she  broke  off, 
dropping  Mrs.  Beale's  hand,  and  gathering  herself  together. 
"  The  trouble  now  is  that  you  are  going  to  let  Edith  throw 
herself  away  on  a  man  you  know  nothing  about " 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  there  you  are  mistaken,"  Mrs.  Beale  inter 
rupted,  comfortably  triumphant.  "  They  have  known  each 
other  all  their  lives.  They  used  to  play  together  as  children  ; 
and  when  I  wrote  to  ask  her  father's  consent  to  the  engage 
ment,  he  replied  that  the  one  thing  which  could  reconcile  him 
to  parting  with  Edith  was  her  choice  of  a  man  who  had  grown 
up  under  our  own  eyes.  I  can  assure  you  that  we  know  his 
faults  quite  as  well  as  his  good  qualities." 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  to  have  me  in  the  regiment, 
Evadne,"  Edith  ventured  with  timid  reproach. 

"  I  would  not  like  to  have  you  anywhere  as  that  man's  wife," 
Evadne  answered. 

"  Well,  if  he  is,"  said  Edith,  with  a  flash  of  enthusiasm,  "  if 
he  is  bad)  I  will  make  him  good  ;  if  he  is  lost,  I  will  save 
him  ! " 

"  Spoken  like  a  true  woman,  dearest  !  "  her  mother  said, 
rising  to  kiss  her,  and  then  standing  back  to  look  up  at  her 
with  yearning  love  and  admiration. 

Evadne  rose  also  with  a  heavy  sigh.  "  I  know  how  you 
feel,"  she  said  to  Edith  drearily.  "  You  glow  and  are  glad 
from  morning  till  night.  You  have  a  great  yearning  here," 
she  clasped  her  hands  to  her  breast.  "  You  find  a  new  delight 
in  music,  a  new  beauty  in  flowers  ;  unaccountable  joy  in  the 
warmth  and  brightness  of  the  sun,  and  rapture  not  to  be  con 
tained  in  the  quiet  moonlight.  You  despise  yourself,  and 
think  your  lover  worthy  of  adoration.  The  consciousness  of 
him  never  leaves  you  even  in  your  sleep.  He  is  your  last 
thought  at  night,  your  first  in  the  morning.  Even  when  he  is 
away  from  you,  you  do  not  feel  separated  from  him  as  you  do 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  235 

from  other  people,  for  a  sense  of  his  presence  remains  with  you, 
and  you  flatter  yourself  that  your  spirits  mingle  when  your 
bodies  are  apart.  You  think,  too,  that  the  source  of  all  this 
ecstasy  is  holy  because  it  is  pleasurable  ;  you  imagine  it  will 
last  forever  !  " 

Edith  stared  at  her.  That  Evadne  should  know  the  entrance' 
ment  of  love  herself  so  exactly,  and  not  reverence  it  as  holy, 
amazed  her. 

"  And  you  call  it  love,"  Evadne  added,  as  if  she  had  read 
her  thought ;  "  but  it  is  not  love.  The  threshold  of  love  and 
hate  adjoin,  and  it — this  feeling — stands  midway  between  them, 
an  introduction  to  either.  It  is  always  a  question,  as  marriages 
are  now  made,  whether,  when  passion  has  had  time  to  cool, 
husband  and  wife  will  love  or  detest  each  other.  But  what  is 
the  use  of  talking  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  will  not  heed  me. 
It  is  too  late  now."  She  turned  and  walked  toward  the 
door ;  but  Edith  caught  her  by  the  arm  and  stopped  her. 

"  Evadne  !  Do  not  go  like  this  ! "  she  entreated,  with  a 
sob  in  her  voice.  "Wish  me  well  at  least !  " 

"  I  do  wish  you  well,"  said  Evadne.  "  With  what  other  motive 
could  I  have  said  so  much  ?  But  I  ask  again,  what  is  the  use  ? 
Your  parents  are  content  to  let  you  marry  a  man  of  whose  pri 
vate  life  they  have  no  knowledge  whatever — — " 

Mrs.  Beale  interrupted  her  :  "This  is  not  quite  the  case," 
she  confessed.  "  We  do  know  that  there  have  been  errors  ; 
but  all  that  is  over  now,  and  it  would  be  wicked  of  us  not  to 
believe  the  best,  and  hope  for  the  best.  A  young  man  in  his 
position  has  great  temptations " 

"  And  if  he  succumbs,  he  is  pardoned  because  of  his  posi 
tion  !  " 

"  Oh,  come,  now,  Evadne  ! "  Mrs.  Beale  remonstrated, 
"  You  cannot  think  that  such  a  consideration  affects  our 
decision.  His  position  and  property  are  very  nice  in  them 
selves,  and  indeed  all  that  we  care  about  in  that  way  for  Edith, 
but  we  were  nonthinking  about  either  when  we  gave  our  con 
sent.  It  is  the  dear  fellow  himself  that  we  want " 

"  I  can  make  him  all  that  he  ought  to  be  !  I  know  I  can  !  " 
Edith  exclaimed  fervently,  clasping  her  hands,  and  looking  up, 
with  bright  eyes  full  of  confidence  and  passion.  * 

Evadne  said  not  another  word,  but  kissed  them  both,  and 
left  the  house. 

"  Mother  !  how  strange  Evadne  is  !  "  Edith  ejaculated. 

Mrs,  Beale  shook  her  head  several  times,    "  I  heard  that  she 


236  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

had  some  trouble  at  the  outset  of  her  own  married  life,"  she 
said.  "  I  don't  know  what  it  was  ;  but  doubtless  it  accounts 
for  her  manner  to-day.  Don't  think  about  it,  however.  She 
will  recover  her  right-mindedness  as  she  grows  older.  A  little 
shock  upsets  a  girl's  judgment  very  often  ;  but  she  is  so  clever 
and  conscientious,  she  will  certainly  get  over  it.  But  you  are 
quite  agitated  yourself,  dear.  Come  !  think  no  more  about 
what  she  said  !  Her  own  marriage  quite  disproves  all  her 
arguments,  for  Colonel  Colquhoun  was  notoriously  just  the 
kind  of  man  she  would  have  us  believe  Mosley  is,  and  see  what 
she  has  done  for  him,  and  how  well  they  get  on  together  ! 
Think  no  more  about  it,  dear  child,  but  come  out  with  me. 
The  air  will  tranquillize  us  both." 

On  her  way  home,  Evadne  overtook  Mr.  St.  John.  He  was 
walking  slowly  with  his  chin  on  his  chest,  looking  down,  and 
his  whole  demeanour  was  expressive  of  deep  dejection. 

He  looked  up  with  a  start  when  Evadne  overtook  him,  and 
their  eyes  met. 

"  You  have  heard  ?  "  she  said. 

He  made  an  affirmative  gesture. 

"  I  never — never  dreamt  of  such  a  thing,"  she  went  on.  "  I 
thought — I  hoped — pardon  me,  but  I  hoped  it  would  be  you. 
She  liked  you  so  much.  I  know  she  did." 

"  But  not  enough,  for  she  refused  me,"  he  answered  gently. 
"  But  doubtless  it  is  all  for  the  best.  His  ways  are  not  our 
ways,  you  know,  and  we  suffer  because  we  are  too  proud  to 
resign  ourselves  to  manifestations  of  His  wisdom,  which  are 
beyond  our  comprehension.  When  you  came  up,  I  was  feeling  as 
if  I  could  never  say  '  Thy  will  be  done  '  with  my  whole  heart, 
fervently,  in  this  matter,  but  since  you  spoke  to  me,  I  think  I 
can," 

Evadne  took  his  arm,  and  the  gentle  pressure  of  her  hand 
upon  it  expressed  her  heartfelt  sympathy  eloquently. 

"  If  it  had  been  anyone  else,  I  thought  at  first — but,  doubt 
less,  doubtless,  it  is  all  for  the  best  !  "  he  added  ;  and  then  he 
raised  his  head,  and  changed  the  subject  bravely. 

But  Evadne  did  not  hear  what  he  was  saying,  for  suddenly 
she  found  herself  on  the  cliffs  at  home,  and  it  was  a  scented 
summer  morning  ;  the  air  was  balmy,  the  sun  was  shining,  the 
little  waves  rippled  up  over  the  sand,  the  birds  were  singing, 
and  the  dew-drops  hung  on  the  yellow  gorse  ;  but  that  joy  in 
her  own  being  which  lent  a  charm  to  these  was  wanting,  and 
the  songs  seemed  tuneless,  the  scent  oppressive,  the  sea  all 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  237 

sameness,  the  land  a  waste,  and  the  sun  itself  a  glaring  garish 
baldness  of  light,  that  accentuated  her  own  disconsolation,  the 
length  of  a  life  that  is  not  worth  living,  and  the  size  of  a  world 
which  contains  no  corner  of  comfort  in  all  its  pitiless  expanse. 
And  it  was  the  same  story  too.  She  was  witnessing  the  same 
mystery  of  love  rejected — the  same  worthiness  for  the  same 
unworthiness  ;  the  same  fine  discipline  of  resignation,  which 
made  the  pain  of  it  endurable  ;  listening  to  the  same  old  pulpit 
platitudes  even,  which  have  such  force  of  soothing  when  rev 
erently  expressed.  She  and  Edith  were  very  different  types  of 
girlhood,  and  it  seemed  a  strange  coincidence  that  their  oppor 
tunities  should  have  been  identical  nevertheless  ;  but  not 
singular  that  their  action  should  have  been  the  same,  because 
the  force  of  nature  which  controlled  them  is  a  matter  of  con 
stitution  more  than  of  character,  and  subject  only  to  a  training 
which  neither  of  them  had  received,  and  without  which,  instead 
of  ruling,  they  are  ruled  erratically. 

Evadne  had  quite  forgotten  by  this  time  all  her  first  fine 
feelings  on  the  subject  of  a  celibate  priesthood.  She  now  held 
that  the  laws  of  nature  are  the  laws  of  God,  and  marriage  is  a 
law  of  nature  which  there  is  no  evidence  that  God  has  ever 
rescinded. 

Evadne  had  not  heard  what  Mr.  St.  John  was  saying,  and 
she  did  not  care  to  hear  ;  she  knew  that  it  was  not  relevant  to 
anything  which  either  of  them  had  in  their  minds  ;  but  still 
held  his  arm,  and  looked  up  at  him  sympathetically  when  he 
paused  for  a  reply,  and  at  that  moment  Colonel  Colquhoun, 
accompanied  by  Sir  Mosley  Menteith,  turned  out  of  a  side 
street  just  behind  them,  and  followed  on  in  the  same  direction. 
When  Menteith  saw  the  two  walking  so  familiarly  arm  in  arm, 
he  glanced  at  Colonel  Colquhonn  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes 
to  see  how  he  took  it.  But  Colonel  Colquhoun's  face  remained 
serenely  impassive. 

"  Easy  ! "  he  said.  "  We  won't  overtake  them  till  we  arrive 
at  the  house.  I  expect  he  is  seeing  her  home,  and  as  Mrs. 
Colquhoun  is  only  at  her  best  tete-b-tete^  it  would  be  a  shame  to 
deprive  him  of  the  small  recompense  he  will  get  for  his 
trouble."  He  twisted  his  moustache  and  continued  to  look  at 
the  pair  thoughtfully  when  he  had  spoken,  and  Menteith 
glanced  at  him  again  to  see  if  he  might  not  perchance  be  con 
cealing  some  secret  annoyance  under  an  affectation  of  easy 
indifference,  but  there  was  not  a  trace  of  anything  of  the  kind 
apparent. 


238  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that  women  do  cling  to  the  clergy,"  was 
the  outcome  of  Colonel  Colquhoun's  reflections — "  I  mean 
metaphorically  speaking,  of  course,"  he  hastened  to  add  with  a 
laugh,  perceiving  the  double  construction  that  might  be  put  on 
the  remark  in  view  of  the  situation.  "  Now,  there  is  only  one 
fellow  on  the  island  that  Evadne  cares  for  as  much  as  she  does 
for  her  friend  there.  I  think  she  likes  the  other  better 
though." 

"  You  mean  yourself,  of  course,"  said  Menteith. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  myself,  of  course,"  Colonel  Colquhoun 
answered.  "  Putting  myself  out  of  the  question.  It  is  Price, 
I  mean." 

"  That  dried-up  old  chap  ?  "  Menteith  exclaimed.  "  Well, 
he's  pretty  safe,  I  should  say  !  And  I  should  never  be  jealous 
of  a  parson  myself.  Women  always  treat  them  de  haut 
en  bas." 

"  I  believe,  sir,  that  Mrs.  Colquhoun  is  perfectly  '  safe '  with 
anyone  whom  she  may  choose  for  a  friend,"  Colonel  Colquhoun 
said  with  an  emphasis  which  made  Menteith  apologize  imme 
diately. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  asked  Evadne  that  evening  what  she 
thought  of  the  projected  marriage. 

"I  think  it  detestable,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  I  think  it  a  pity  myself,"  he  said.  "  She's  such  a 
nice  looking  girl  too." 

Evadne  turned  to  him  with  a  flash  of  hope.  "  Can't  you  do 
something  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Can't  you  prevent  it  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  impossible,"  he  answered.  "  And  I  beg  as  a 
favour  to  myself  that  you  won't  try." 

u  I  have  done  my  best  already,"  she  said. 

"  Then  you  have  made  your  friends  enemies  for  life,"  he 
declared.  "A  girl  like  that  won't  give  up  a  man  she  loves 
even  for  such  considerations  as  have  made  you  indifferent  to 
my  happiness — and  welfare." 

Evadne  perceived  the  contradiction  involved  in  commend 
ing  Edith  for  doing  what  he  considered  it  a  pity  that*  she 
should  do  ;  but  she  recognized  her  own  impotence  also,  and 
^  was  silent.  It  was  the  system,  the  horrid  system  that  was  to 
T  blame,  and  neither  he,  nor  she,  nor  any  of  them. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  ruminated  for  a  little. 

"  It  is  rather  curious,"  he  finally  observed,  "  that  you  should 
both  have  shied  at  the  parsons,  seeing  how  very  particular  you 
are." 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  239 

"  Who  told  you  we  had  both — refused  a  clergyman  ?  " 
Evadne  asked. 

"  Everybody  in  Malta  knows  that  St.  John  proposed  to  Miss 
Beale,"  he  answered,  "  and  your  father  told  me  about  the  offer 
you  had.  He  remarked  at  the  time  that  girls  will  only  have 
manly  men,  and  that  therefore  we  soldiers  get  the  pick  of 
them. 

Evadne  was  silent.  She  was  thinking  of  something  her 
father  had  once  remarked  in  her  presence  on  the  same  sub 
ject  :  "  I  have  observed,"  he  had  said,  in  his  pompous  way, 
"  that  the  clergy  carry  off  all  the  nicest  girls.  You  will  see 
some  of  the  finest,  who  have  money  of  their  own  too,  marry 
quite  commonplace  parsons.  But  the  reason  is  obvious.  It 
is  their  faith  in  the  superior  moral  probity  of  Churchmen 
which  weighs  with  them." 

The  Beales  went  home  the  following  week  to  prepare  for 
the  wedding,  which  was  to  take  place  immediately.  They  both 
wrote  to  Evadne  kindly  before  they  left,  and  she  replied  in  the 
same  tone,  but  she  could  not  persuade  herself  to  see  them 
again,  nor  did  they  wish  it. 


END  OF   BOOK   II. 


BOOK  III. 

DEVELOPMENT  AND  ARREST  OF 
DEVELOPMENT. 


Fury .  Blood  thou  canst  see,  and  fire  ;  and  canst  hear  groans  ;— 
Worse  things,  unheard,  unseen,  remain  behind. 

Prometheus  :  Worse  ? 

Fury  :  In  each  human  heart  terror  survives 

The  ravin  it  has  gorged.     The  loftiest  fear 
All  that  they  would  disdain  to  think  were  true : 
Hypocrisy  and  Custom  make  their  minds 
The  fanes  of  many  a  worship  now  outworn. 
They  dare  not  devise  good  for  man's  estate, 
And  yet  they  know  not  that  they  do  not  dare. 
The  good  want  power  but  to  weep  barren  tears  : 
The  powerful  goodness  want, — worse  need  for  them  : 
The  wise  want  love  :  and  those  who  love  want  wisdom  : 
And  all  best  things  are  thus  confused  to  ill. 
Many  are  strong  and  rich  and  would  be  just, 
But  live  among  their  suffering  fellow-men 
As  if  none  felt :  they  know  not  what  they  do. 

—Prometheus  Unbound 


CHAPTER  I. 

EDITH  was  married  in  the  cathedral  at  Morningquest,  and 
of  course  the  twins  were  present  at  the  wedding.  From 
what  social  gathering  were  they  ever  excluded  if  they  chose  to 
be  present  ?  Mrs.  Beale  had  not  thought  of  asking  them  at 
all,  but  Angelica  intimated,  in  her  royal  way,  that  she  wished 
to  be  a  bridesmaid,  and  Diavolo  must  be  a  page,  and  Lady 
Adeline  begged  Mrs.  Beale  for  Heaven's  sake  to  arrange  it  so, 
lest  worse  should  come  of  it. 

But  the  twins  did  not  enjoy  the  occasion  at  all,  for  the  truth 
was  that  they  were  not  as  they  had  been.  Angelica  was 
rapidly  outstripping  Diavolo,  as  was  inevitable  at  that  age. 
He  was  still  a  boy,  but  she  was  verging  on  womanhood,  and 
already  had  thoughts  which  did  not  appeal  to  him,  and  moods 
which  he  could  not  comprehend,  the  consequence  being-  con 
tinual  quarrels  between  them, — those  quarrels  in  which  people 
are  hottest  and  bitterest,  not  because  of  their  hate,  but 
because  of  their  love  for  each  other.  There  is  such  agony 
in  misunderstanding  and  blame  when  all  has  hitherto 
been  comprehension,  approval,  and  sympathy.  The  shadow 
of  approaching  maturity,  which  would  separate  them  inevit 
ably  for  the  next  few  years,  already  touched  Angelica 
perceptibly  ;  and,  although  to  the  onlookers  they  seemed  to 
treat  each  other  as  usual,  both  children  felt  that  there  was 
something  wrong,  and  their  discomfort  was  all  the  greater 
because  neither  of  them  could  account  for  the  change.  Angel 
ica  had  been  for  some  time  in  her  most  hoydenish,  least  human 
stage,  during  wh'ch  she  had  given  up  hugging  Diavolo,  and 
taken  to  butting  him  in  the  stomach  instead.  But  she  was 
growing  beyond  that  now,  and  was  in  fact  just  on  the  border 
land,  hovering  between  two  states  :  in  the  one  of  which  she  was 
a  child,  all  nonsense  and  mischievous  tricks  ;  and  in  the  other 
a  girl  with  tender  impulses  and  yearning  senses  seeking  some 
satisfaction. 

She  and  Diavolo  had  promised  themselves  some  fun  at 
Edith's  wedding,  but  when  the  morning  came  Angelica  was 
moody  and  irritable,  and  Diavolo  watched  her  and  waited  in 

'43 


244  THE  HEAVENLY   TWltiS. 

vain  for  a  suggestion.  When  they  were  in  the  cathedral, 
during  the  ceremony,  she  had  a  strange  feeling  that  there  was 
something  in  it  all  that  specially  concerned  her,  and  she 
looked  at  Edith  and  listened  to  the  service  intently,  in  an 
involuntary  effort  to  obtain  some  clue  to  her  own  sensations. 

Diavolo,  who  was  all  sympathy  when  there  was  anything 
really  wrong  with  her,  became  alarmed. 

"  Does  your  stomach  ache  ?  "  he  whispered.  (They  were 
kneeling  side  by  side.) 

"  No  !  "  she  answered  shortly. 

"  Oh,  then,  I  suppose  there  is  something  morally  wrong,"  he 
observed,  in  a  satisfied  tone,  as  if  he  knew  from  experience 
that  that  was  a  small  thing  compared  with  the  other  complaint. 

They  sat  together  at  the  wedding  breakfast,  but  Angelica 
continued  silently  observant. 

Diavolo  had  brought  a  big  boiled  shrimp  in  his  pocket. 

It  was  black  and  of  great  age,  and  he  managed  to  fasten  it 
adroitly  on  the  shoulder  of  the  lady  who  sat  next  him,  so  that 
its  long  antennae  tickled  her  neck,  and  provoked  her  attention 
to  it. 

Glancing  down  sideways,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  black 
eyes  and  many  legs,  she  thought  it  was  some  horrid  creature 
with  a  sting,  and  jumped  up,  shrieking  wildly,  to  everybody's 
consternation. 

Angelica  declared  it  was  a  stupid  trick. 

"  Well,  you  put  me  up  to  it  yourself,"  Diavolo  grumbled. 

"  Did  I  ? "  she  snapped.     "  Then  I  was  wrong." 

Somebody  began  to  make  a  speech,  which  was  all  in  praise 
of  the  lovely  bride  ;  and  Diavolo,  listening  to  it,  and  remem 
bering  that  he  had  wished  to  marry  her  himself,  became  in- 
tehsely  sentimental.  He  recovered  his  shrimp,  and  laying  it 
out  on  the  cloth  before  him  gazed  at  it  in  a  melancholy  way. 

"  All  the  nice  girls  marry,"  he  complained,  thinking  of 
Evadne. 

"Well,  what's  that  to  you  ?"  Angelica  demanded,  with  a 
jealous  flash. 

"  Only  that  I  suppose  you  also  will  marry  and  leave  me 
some  day,"  he  readily  responded.  Diavolo  was  nothing  if  not 
courtly. 

But  Angelica  knew  him,  and  resented  this  attempt  to  impose 
upon  her. 

"  I  despise  you  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  and  then  she  turned  to 
Mr.  Kilroy  of  Ilverthorp,  who  was  her  neighbour  on  the  right, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  245 

and  made  great  friends  with  him  to  spite  Diavolo  ;  but  the 
latter  was  engrossed  in  his  breakfast  by  that  time,  and  took 
no  notice. 

When  they  got  back  to  Hamilton  House,  Mr.  Ellis  asked 
her  how  she  had  enjoyed  the  wedding. 

"  It  made  me  feel  sick"  she  said  ;  and  then  she  got  a  book, 
and  flinging  herself  down  on  a  window  seat,  with  her  long  legs 
straggling  out  behind  her  and  her  face  to  the  light,  made 
a  pretence  of  reading. 

Diavolo  hovered  about  her  with  a  dismal  face,  trying  to 
devise  some  method  of  taking  her  out  of  herself. 

"  My  ear  does  bother  me,"  he  said  at  last,  sitting  down  beside 
her  with  his  back  to  the  window,  and  his  legs  stretched  straight 
out  before  him  close  together.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  could  tear  it 
off." 

"  No,  don't  ;  you  might  want  it  again  !  "  Angelica  retorted, 
and  then,  the  observation  striking  her  as  ludicrous,  she  looked 
up  at  him  and  grinned,  and  so  broke  the  ice. 

Mr.  Ellis  was  the  first  to  notice  signs  of -the  impending 
change  in  Angelica.  Although  she  was  over  fifteen,  she  had 
no  coquettish  or  womanly  ways,  insisted  on  wearing  her  dresses 
up  to  her  knees,  expressed  the  strongest  objection  to  being 
grown-up  and  considered  a  young  lady,  and  had  never  been 
known  to  look  at  herself  in  the  glass  ;  but  she  began  to  be  less 
teasing  and  more  sympathetic,  and  sometimes  now,  if  the 
tutor  were  tired  or  worried,  she  noticed  it,  and  pulled  Diavolo 
up  for  being  a  nuisance. 

The  day  after  the  wedding,  in  the  afternoon,  Dr.  Galbraith 
walked  over  from  Fountain  Towers  to  Hamilton  House, 
through  the  fields,  and  encountered  Lord  Dawne  in  the  porch. 
It  was  lovely  summer  weather. 

"  I  am  looking  for  the  children,"  Lord  Dawne  said.  "  I  have 
come  over  from  Morne  with  a  message  for  them  from  their 
grandfather.  Do  you  happen  to  have  seen  them  anywhere?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  Dr.  Galbraith  answered  drily,  but  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "I  disco /ered  them  just  now  in  a  field 
of  mine — a  hayfield — not  that  they  were  making  any  pretence 
of  hiding  themselves,  however,"  he  hastened  to  add,  "  for 
they  were  each  sitting  on  the  top  of  a  separate  haycock,  carry 
ing  on  an  animated  discussion  in  tones  as  elevated  as  their 
position,  so  that  I  heard  them  long  before  I  saw  them.  They 
will  end  the  discussion  by  demolishing  my  haycocks,  I  sup 
pose,"  he  concluded  resignedly. 


246  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  What  was  it  all  about  ?  "  Lord  Dawne  asked. 

"  Well,  I  believe  they  started  with  the  vexed  question  of 
primogeniture,"  Dr.  Galbraith  replied  ;  "  but  when  1  came  up 
with  them  they  were  quarrelling  because  they  could  not  agree 
as  to  whether  they  were  more  their  father's  or  their  mother's 
children.  Angelica  maintained  the  latter,  for  reasons  which 
she  gave  at  the  top  of  her  voice  with  admirable  accuracy. 
When  I  appeared  they  both  appealed  to  me  to  confirm  their 
opinions,  but  I  fled.  I  am  not  so  advanced  as  the  Heavenly 
Twins." 

Lord  Dawne  looked  grave  :  "  What  will  become  of  the 
child,  Angelica  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  anxious  about  her,"  Dr.  Galbraith 
replied,  looking  full  at  him  with  sympathy  and  affection  in  his 
kind  gray  eyes.  "  She  has  no  vice  in  her  whatever,  and  not 
a  trace  of  hysteria.  Her  talk  is  mere  exuberance  of  intellect." 

"  I  don't  know,"  her  uncle  answered.  "  Qui  peut  tout  dire 
arrive  d  tout  faire,  you  know." 

"  I  find  that  falsified  continually  in  my  profession,"  Dr. 
Galbraith  rejoined.  "  It  depends  entirely  as  a  rule  upon  how 
the  thing  is  said,  and  why.  If  it  be  a  matter  of  inclina 
tion  only,  controlled  by  fear  of  the  law  or  public  opinion  which 
is  expressed,  the  aphorism  would  hold,  probably  ;  but  lan 
guage  which  is  the  outcome  of  moods  or  phases  that  are  tran 
sient  makes  no  permanent  mark  upon  the  character." 

Lord  Dawne  took  Dr.  Galbraith  to  the  drawing  room,  where 
they  found  Lady  Adeline  with  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  and  the 
tutor.  Mr.  Ellis  had  been  a  great  comfort  to  Lady  Adeline 
ever  since  he  came  to  the  house.  She  felt,  she  said,  that  she 
should  always  owe  him  a  deep  debt  of  gratitude  for  his  patient 
care  of  her  terrible  children. 

"  You  are  just  in  time  for  tea,  George,"  she  said  to  Dr. 
Galbraith.  "  Dawne,  you  had  better  wait  here  for  the  chil 
dren.  They  won't  be  late  this  afternoon,  I  am  sure,  because 
Mr.  Kilroy  of  Ilverthorpe  is  here,  and  Angelica  likes  him  to 
talk  to."  ' 

"Ah,  now  you  do  surprise  me,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith,  "for 
I  should  have  thought  that  Mr.  Kilroy  was  the  last  person  in 
the  world  to  interest  Angelica." 

"  And  so  he  is,"  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  observed  in  his  pre- 
cisest  way,  "  and  she  does  not  profess  to  find  him  interesting. 
But  what  she  says  is  that  she  must  talk,  and  he  does  for  a 
target  to  talk  at." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  247 

Lady  Adeline  looked  anxiously  at  the  door  while  her  hus 
band  was  speaking.  She  was  in  terror  lest  Mr.  Kilroy  should 
come  in  and  hear  him,  for  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  had  a  habit  of 
threshing  his  subject  out,  even  when  it  was  obviously  unfor 
tunate,  and  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  interrupted  by  any 
body. 

He  made  his  favourite  gesture  with  his  hands  when  he  had 
spoken,  which  consisted  in  spreading  his  long  white  fingers 
out  as  if  he  wore  lace  ruffles  which  were  in  the  way,  and  was 
shaking  them  back  a  little.  He  had  a  long  cadaverous  face, 
clean  shaken  ;  straight  hair  of  suspicious  brownness,  parted  in 
the  middle  and  plastered  down  on  either  side  of  his  head  ;  and 
a  general  air  of  being  one  of  his  own  Puritan  ancestors  who 
should  have  appeared  in  black  velvet  and  lace  ;  and  his 
punctilious  manners  strengthened  this  impression.  The  one 
trinket  he  displayed  was  a  ring,  which  he  wore  on  the  forefin 
ger  of  his  right  hand,  a  handsome  intaglio  carved  out  of 
crimson  coral.  It  seemed  to  be  the  only  part  of  his  natural 
costume  which  had  survived,  and  came  into  play  continually. 

Mr.  Kilroy  entered  the  room  in  time  to  hear  the  concluding 
remark,  but  naturally  did  not  take  it  to  himself,  and  Lord 
Dawne,  seeing  his  sister's  trepidation,  came  to  the  rescue  by 
diverting  the  subject  into  another  channel. 

They  were  all  sitting  round  an  open  window,  and  just  at 
that  moment  the  twins  themselves  appeared  in  sight,  strag 
gling  up  the  drive  in  a  deep  discourse,  with  their  arms  round 
each  other's  necks,  and  Angelica's  dark  head  resting  against 
Diavolo's  fair  one. 

"  Harmony  reigns  among  the  heavenly  bodies,  apparently," 
said  Dr.  Galbraith. 

"  The  powers  of  darkness  plotting  evil,  more  likely,"  said 
their  uncle  Dawne. 

"  Naughty  children  !  What  have  they  done  with  their  hats  ?  " 
Lady  Adeline  exclaimed. 

"  Discovered  some  ingenious  method  of  doing  damage  to 
my  hay  with  them,  most  probably,"  Dr.  Galbraith  observed. 

They  all  leant  forward,  watching  the  children. 

"Angelica  is  growing  up,"  said  Lord  Dawne. 

"  She  has  always  been  the  taller,  stronger,  and  wickeder  of 
the  two,  and  will  remain  so,  I  expect,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith. 

"  But  how  old  is  she  now  exactly  ? "  Mr.  Kilroy  wished  to 
know. 

"  Nearly  sixteen,"  Lady  Adeline  answered,      "  But  a  very 


248  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

young  sixteen  in  some  ways,  I  am  thankful  to  say.  And  I 
believe  we  have  you  to  thank,  Mr.  Ellis,  for  keeping  her  so." 

The  tutor's  strong  but  careworn  face  flushed  sensitively  ; 
but  he  only  answered  with  a  deprecating  gesture. 

"Then  how  old  is  Diavolo?"  Mr.  Kilroy  pursued  absently. 

"  About  the  same  age,"  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  replied,  with 
out  moving  a  muscle  of  his  face. 

Lady  Adeline  looked  puzzled:  "Of  course  they  are  the 
same  age,"  she  said,  as  if  the  point  could  be  disputed. 

Mr.  Kilroy  woke  up:  "Oh,  of  course,  of  course!"  he 
exclaimed  with  some  embarrassment. 

The  twins  had  gone  round  the  house  by  this  time,  and 
presently  Diavolo  appeared  in  the  drawing  room  alone.  His 
thick  fair  hair  stood  out  round  his  head  like  a  rumpled  mop  : 
his  face  and  hands  were  not  immaculate,  and  his  clothes  were 
creased  ;  but  he  entered  the  room  with  the  same  courtly  yet 
diffident  air  and  high-bred  ease  which  distinguished  his  uncle 
Dawne,  whom  he  imitated  as  well  as  resembled  in  most 
things. 

He  took  his  seat  beside  him  now,  and  remarked  that  it  was 
a  nice  day,  and 

But  before  he  could  finish  the  affable  phrase,  the  door 
burst  open  from  without,  and  Angelica  entered. 

"  Hollo  !  Are  you  all  here  ? "  she  said.  "  How  are  you, 
Uncle  Dawne  ? " 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  impetuous,"  Diavolo  remon 
strated  gently.  "  You  quite  startle  one." 

"  You  are  a  coon  !  "  said  Angelica. 

"  My  dear  child "  Lady  Angeline  began. 

"  Well,  mamma,  no  matter  what  I  do,  Diavolo  grumps  at 
me,"  Angelica  snapped. 

"  What  expressions  you  use  !  "  sighed  Lady  Adeline. 

Angelica  plumped  down  on  the  arm  of  her  uncle's  chair, 
and  hugged  him  round  the  head  with  one  hand.  She  smelt 
overpoweringly  strong  of  hay  and  hot  weather,  but  he  patiently 
endured  the  caress,  which  was  over  in  a  moment  as  it  hap 
pened,  for  Angelica  caught  sight  of  her  cat  lurking  under  a 
sofa  opposite,  and  bending  down  double,  whistled  to  it.  Then 
she  turned  her  attention  to  a  huge  slice  of  bread,  butter,  and 
jam  she  held  in  her  hand.  Diavolo's  soul  appeared  in  his  face 
and  shone  out  of  his  eyes  when  she  bit  it. 

"  Have  some  ? "  said  Angelica,  going  over  to  him,  and  edg 
ing  him  half  off  his  chair  so  as  to  make  room  for  herself 


THE   HEAVENLY    TWINS.  249 

beside  him.  She  held  the  bread  and  butter  to  his  mouth  as 
she  spoke,  and  they  finished  it  together,  bite  and  bite  about. 

"Now  I  am  ready  for  tea,"  said  Angelica  when  they  had 
done. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Diavolo,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  Let  us  have  afternoon  tea  with  you  here  to-day,  Mr. 
Ellis,"  Angelica  coaxed.  "  It's  so  much  more  sociable.  And 
I  want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Kilroy." 

She  jumped  up  in  her  impetuous  way,  plumped  down  again 
on  a  low  stool  in  front  of  that  gentleman,  clasped  her  hands 
round  her  knees,  and  looked  up  in  his  face  as  she  spoke. 

"  That's  a  nice  place  you've  got  at "  she  was  beginning, 

but  Mr.  Ellis  interrupted  her  by  throwing  up  his  head  and 
ejaculating  "  Grammar  !  " 

"  Bother  !  "  Angelica  exclaimed  testily.  "  Now  you've  put 
me  all  out.  Oh  !r—  I  was  going  to  say  yvu  have  a  nice  place  at 
Ilverthorpe.  We  were  over  there  the  other  day  and  inspected 
it." 

"  Very  happy — glad,  I  am  sure,  you  did  not  stand  upon 
ceremony,"  Mr.  Kilroy  answered. 

But  this  politeness  seemed  altogether  superfluous  to  Angel 
ica,  and  she  did  not  therefore  acknowledge  it  in  any  way. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  go  into  Parliament  now,"  she  pursued. 

Mr.  Kilroy  looked  surprised.  The  idea  had  occurred  to 
him  lately,  but  he  was  not  aware  of  having  mentioned  it  to 
anyone. 

"  I  hope  you  will  at  all  events,"  she  continued,  "  and  let  me 
write  your  speeches  for  you.  That  is  what  Diavolo  is  going 
to  do.  You  see  I  shall  want  a  mouthpiece  until  I  get  in 
myself,  and  I  don't  mind  having  two  if  you  are  clever  at  learn 
ing  by  heart.  You've  a  pleasant  voice  and  good  address  to 
begin  with,  and  that  is  all  in  your  favour.  Oh,  you  needn't 
exchange  glances  with  papa,"  she  broke  off.  "  He  doesn't 
know  how  I  mean  to  order  my  life  in  the  least." 

"  But  you  will  allow  him  some  voice  in  the  ordering  of  it — 
at  least  until  you  marry,  I  suppose,"  Mr.  Kilroy  observed. 

"  That  depends,"  Angelica  answered  decidedly.  "  You  see, 
a  child  comes  into  the  world  for  purposes  of  its  own,  and  not 
in  order  to  carry  out  any  preconceived  ideas  its  father  may 
have  of  what  it  is  good  for.  And  as  to  marrying — well,  that 
requires  consideration." 

"  Now,  I  call  that  a  very  proper  spirit  in  which  to  approach 
the  subject,"  Mr.  Kilroy  declared.  "  You  have  every  right  to 


25°  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

expect  to  make  the  best  match  possible,  and  the  choice  for  a 
young  lady  in  your  position  will  be  restricted." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Angelica  bluntly.  "  Is  thy  servant  a 
slave  of  a  princess  that  she  should  marry  a  rickety  king  ?  I 
have  quite  other  views  for  myself.  In  fact,  I  think  the  wisest 
plan  for  me  would  be  to  buy  a  nice  clean  little  boy,  and  bring 
him  up  to  suit  my  own  ideas.  I  needn't  marry  him,  you  know, 
if  he  doesn't  turn  out  well."  She  slipped  from  the  footstool 
on  to  the  floor  as  she  spoke,  and  began  to  make  friendly 
overtures  to  the  cat. 

"  I  always  thought  you  had  designs  on  Dr.  Galbraith  ! "  said 
Diavolo,  meaning  to  provoke  her. 

"  Did  you  ?"  she  answered.  "  Then  you  must  have  thought 
me  of  a  suicidal  tendency.  Why,  he  would  pound  me  up  in  a 
mortar  if  I  disagreed  with  him.  You  have  heard  him  slam  a 
door?" 

"  He  is  irascible,"  Diavolo  answered,  quite  as  if  Dr.  Gal 
braith  were  not  present  listening  to  him.  "  He  called  me  a 
little  brute  on  one  occasion." 

"  Which  reminds  me,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith.  "  What  have  you 
done  to  my  decoy  ?  The  birds  have  forsaken  it." 

"We  never  did  anything  to  your  decoy,"  rejoined  Angelica 
in  a  positive  tone.  "  You  just  went  down  there  yourself  one 
day  and  exploded  some  long  words  at  the  ducks,  and,  naturally, 
they  scooted." 

"  Well,  I  warn  you,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith,  frowning  with  'deci 
sion — "I  warn  you  that  I  am  going  to  have  keys  made  for 
everything  about  the  place  that  will  lock  up  ;  and,  all  the 
same,  I  shall  only  allow  you  to  come  under  escort  of  the  chief 
constable,  and  I  shall  keep  a  posse  of  detectives  concealed 
about  the  grounds  to  watch  for  you  carefully." 

The  twins  exploded  with  delight. 

"Didn't  I  promise  you  I'd  draw  him  this  afternoon?" 
Diavolo  exclaimed. 

"  You  did,"  Angelica  responded,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Lord  Dawne  got  up. 

"Won't  you  stay  for  tea?"  Lady  Adeline  exclaimed.  "It 
is  just  coming." 

"  I  don't  care  for  any,  thank  you,"  he  answered.      "  And  I 
really  ought  not  to  have  stayed  so  long.     I  onJy  came  to  ask 
if   you  would  let    the  children  come.      Both  my  father  and 
Fulda  have  set  their  hearts  upon  having  them." 
we  to  go  to  Morne  ?  "  cried  Angelica, 


THE    HEAVENLY   TWIN 3.  2$ I 

"  For  a  visit — to  stay  ?  "  said  Diavolo. 

"  If  you  behave  yourselves,"  their  mother  answered. 

"  Oh,  in  that  case  !  "  said  Diavolo,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
as  at  an  impossibility. 

"  It  would  never  do  for  us  to  be  good  there,"  said  Angelica. 
"  Grandpapa  would  be  so  dreadfully  disappointed  if  we 
were." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Diavolo. 

And  then  they  scampered  out  together  into  the  halt,  and 
kicked  each  other  in  the  exuberance  of  their  spirits,  but  with 
out  ill-will. 

CHAPTER  II. 

AS  soon  as  the  Heavenly  Twins  were  safely  settled  at  Morne, 
Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  played  them  a  huge  trick.  He 
made  Lady  Adeline  pack  up  and  set  off  with  him  for  a  voyage 
round  the  world  without  them.  When  their  parents  were  well 
on  the  way,  and  the  news  was  broken  to  the  children,  the  peo 
ple  at  Morne  expected  storm  and  trouble  ;  but  the  Heavenly 
Twins  saw  the  joke  at  once,  and  chuckled  immoderately. 

"I  wonder  how  long  it  took  him  to  think  it  out? "said 
Diavolo. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  brilliant  impromptu,"  Angelica  sup 
posed — "  because,  you  know,  our  coming  here  was  all  arranged 
in  a  moment.  If  you  remember,  we  came  because  they  looked 
so  sure  that  we  shouldn't.  I  expect  as  soon  as  we  had  gone, 
it  was  such  a  relief,  that  papa  said  :  *  Adeline,  my  dear,  we 
must  prolong  this  period  of  peace.'  And  he's  just  about  hit 
on  the  only  way  to  do  so." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  seen  him,  though,  popping  in  and 
out  of  the  train  whenever  it  stopped.  He  must  have  been  in 
a  perfect  fever  until  they  were  safe  on  board  and  out  at  sea, 
fearing  we  might  have  heard  that  they  were  off,  and  found 
some  means  of  following  them." 

"We  might  do  so  still,"  said  Angelica  thoughtfully. 

"No.  Too  much  bother,"  said  Diavolo.  "  And,  besides, 
there  is  good  deal  going  on  here,  you  know,"  he  added  signifi 
cantly.  "  But,  I  say,"  he  demanded,  becoming  parent-sick 
suddenly,  "  do  you  understand  how  they  could  go  off  like  that 
without  saying  good-bye  to  us?  I  call  it  beastly  unnatural." 

"  ^h»  giye  them  their  due!"  said  Angelica.  "  They  did  say 
gooa  oye  to  us.  Don't  you  remember  how  particularly  affec- 


«52  THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

tionate  they  were  the  last  time  they  came  ?  And  all  the  good 
advice  they  gave  us  ?  'Do  attend  to  Mr.  Ellis  '  ;  '  Don't 
worry  your  grandfather,'  and  that  sort  of  thing.  They  must 
have  relieved  their  own  feelings  thoroughly." 

"  Well,  then,  they  didn't  consider  ours  much,"  Diavolo 
grumbled  ;  "  and  they  might  have  allowed  us,  poor  grass- 
orphans,  the  comfort  of  bidding  them  farewell." 

"  We'll  write  them  a  letter,"  said  Angelica. 

Diavolo  grinned. 

And  this  was  how  it  happened  that  the  Heavenly  Twins, 
who  had  only  gone  to  Morne  for  a  month,  remained  a  year 
there,  and  one  of  the  most  important  years  of  their  lives,  as 
was  afterward  evident.  It  was  during  this  time  that  they 
managed  to  identify  themselves  completely  with  their  grand 
father  in  the  estimation  of  the  people  of  Morningquest. 
Charming  manners  were  a  family  trait,  and  the  Heavenly 
Twins  had  always  been  popular  in  the  city  on  their  own 
account ;  their  spontaneity  and  extreme  affability  having 
usually  been  held  to  balance  their  monkey  tricks.  Hamilton 
House,  however,  was  ten  miles  distant  from  Morningquest, 
and  they  had  hitherto  been  thought  of  as  Hamilton- Wells ; 
but  after  that  year  at  the  Castle,  they  became  identified  with 
the  old  stock,  the  alien  Hamilton-Wells  being  dropped  out  of 
sight  altogether. 

The  duke  himself  had  always  been  popular.  He  had,  like 
his  ancestors,  lived  much  in  his  castle  on  the  hill  overlooking 
the  city,  and  had  dominated  the  latter  by  his  personality  as 
well  as  by  his  place,  so  that  the  people,  predisposed  by  the  pres 
sure  of  hereditary  habit  to  recognize  the  pre-eminence  of  one 
of  his  family,  and  being  no  longer  subject  to  the  authority  of 
their  duke  as  in  the  old  days  when  he  was  a  ruler  who  must 
be  obeyed,  looked  up  to  him  involuntarily  as  an  example  to 
be  followed. 

Which  was  how  it  came  to  pass  that,  for  the  last  half  cen 
tury,  there  had  been  two  influences  at  work  in  Morningquest: 
that  of  the  chime,  full  fraught  with  spiritual  suggestion  ;  and 
that  of  the  duke,  which  was  just  the  opposite.  They  were  the 
influences  of  good  and  evil,  and,  needless  to  say,  the  effect  of 
the  latter  was  much  the  more  certain  of  the  two. 

A  great  change,  however,  came  over  the  duke  toward  the 
end  of  his  life.  In  his  youth  he  had  filled  the  place  with  riot 
and  debauchery  ;  in  middle  age  he  had  concealed  his  doings 
under  respectable  cloaks  of  excuse,  such  as  the  County  Club 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  253 

and  business  ;  but  now  he  was  old  and  superstitious,  and 
sought  to  sway  the  people  in  another  direction  altogether. 
For  when  his  youngest  daughter,  the  beautiful  Lady  Fulda, 
became  a  Roman  Catholic,  she  wrought  upon  him  by  her 
earnestness  so  as  to  make  him  fear  the  flames,  and  drove  him 
in  that  way  to  seek  solace  and  salvation  in  the  Church  as  well; 
and  when  he  had  done  so  himself,  he  rather  expected,  and  quite 
intended,  that  everybody  else  should  do  likewise.  But  the 
people  of  Morningquest  who  had  adopted  his  vices  did  not 
fear  the  flames  themselves,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
his  piety.  They  were  like  the  children  in  "  Punch,"  who,  when 
threatened  with  the  policeman  at  the  corner,  exclaimed  in 
derision:  "  Why,  that's  father!"  And,  besides,  the  times 
were  changing  rapidly,  and  the  influence  which  remained  to 
the  aristocracy  was  already  only  dominant  so  long  as  it  went 
the  way  of  popular  feeling  and  was  human  ;  directly  it  retro 
graded  to  past  privileges,  ideas,  superstitions,  and  tastes,  the 
people  laughed  at  it.  They  knew  that  the  threatened  rule  of 
the  priest  was  a  far-fetched  anachronism  which  they  need  not 
fear  for  themselves  in  the  aggregate,  and  they  therefore  gave 
themselves  up  with  interest  to  the  observation  of  such  evi 
dences  of  its  effect  on  the  individual  as  the  duke  should 
betray  to  them  from  time  to  time.  Their  theory  was  that, 
having  grown  too  old  for  worldly  dissipation,  he  had  entered 
the  Church  in  search  of  new  forms  of  excitement,  and  to  vary 
the  monotony  generally,  as  so  many  elderly  coquettes  do 
when  they  can  no  longer  attract  attention  in  any  other  way. 
This,  the  people  maintained,  was  the  nature  of  such  religious 
consolation  as  he  enjoyed  ;  and  upon  that  supposition  certain 
lapses  of  his  were  accounted  for  uncharitably. 

But,  in  truth,  the  duke  was  perfectly  sincere.  He  had  turned 
so  late  in  life,  however,  that  he  was  apt,  by  force  of  habit,  to 
get  muddled.  His  difficulty  was  to  disconnect  the  past  from 
the  present,  the  two  having  a  tendency  to  mix  themselves  up 
in  his  mind.  The  great  interest  of  his  old  age  was  the  build 
ing  of  a  Roman  Catholic  Cathedral  in  Morningquest,  but 
occasionally — and  always  at  the  most  inconvenient  times— he 
would  forget  it  was  a  cathedral,  and  imagine  it  was  an  opera 
house  he  was  supporting  ;  and  when  he  went  to  distribute  the 
prizes  in  the  schools,  he  would  compliment  the  pretty  girls  on 
their  good  looks,  instead  of  lecturing  them  on  the  sin  of 
vanity  ;  and  promise  that  they  should  sing  in  the  chorus,  or 
dance  in  the  ballet  if  their  legs  were  good,  when  he  should 


254  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

have  been  discoursing  about  the  dangers  of  the  vain  world, 
and  pointing  the  moral  of  happy  humble  obscurity.  On  these 
occasions,  Lady  Fulda,  who  was  always  beside  him,  suffered  a 
good  deal.  She  would  pull  him  up  in  a  whisper  which  he 
sometimes  made  her  repeat,  until  everyone  in  the  place  had 
heard  it  but  himself,  and  then,  at' last,  when  he  did  understand, 
he  would  hasten  to  correct  himself.  But,  of  course,  it  was  the 
mistake  and  not  the  correction  which  made  the  most  lasting 
impression. 

Lady  Fulda  was  not  at  all  clever.  In  the  schoolroom  she 
was  always  far  behind  her  sisters,  Lady  Adeline  and  Lady 
Claudia,  and  before  his  conversion,  her  father  used  to  say  that 
she  had  the  appearance  of  a  Juno,  and  the  cow-like  capacity 
one  would  naturally  expect  from  the  portraits  of  that  matron 
now  extant.  But  this  was  not  fair  to  her  intelligence,  for  she 
had  a  certain  range  which  included  sympathetic  insight,  and 
the  knack  of  saying  the  right  thing  both  for  her  own  purpose 
and  for  the  occasion. 

She  had  a  full  exterior  of  uncrumpled,  lineless,  delicately 
tinted  flesh  ;  a  voice  that  made  "  Good-morning  "  impressive 
when  she  said  it  ;  a  sincerity  which  paused  upon  every  expres 
sion  of  opinion  to  weigh  its  worth.  She  would  hardly  say  ; 
"  It  is  a  fine  day,"  without  first  glancing  at  the  weather,  just  to 
be  sure  that  it  had  not  changed  since  she  decided  to  make  the 
remark.  And  she  had  a  great  loving  heart.  If  she  did  not 
sigh  for  husband  and  children,  it  was  because  she  was  never 
in  the  presence  of  any  creature  for  many  minutes  without  feel 
ing  a  flood  of  tenderness  for  them  suffuse  her  whole  being,  so 
that  her  affections  were  always  satisfied.  Because  of  her 
grand  presence  people  expected  great  things  of  her,  and  none 
of  them  ever  went  disappointed  away.  She  filled  their  hearts, 
and  nobody  ever  complains  of  the  head  when  the  heart  is  full. 
Love  was  the  secret  both  of  her  beauty  and  her  power. 

The  twins  arrived  late  one  day  at  Morne,  and  immediately 
afterward  the  whole  castle  was  pervaded  by  their  presence, 
and  signs  of  them  appeared  in  the  most  unlikely  places.  A 
mysterious  packet,  rolled  up  in  a  sheet  of  the  Times,  considera 
bly  soiled,  and  known  as  "  Angelica's  work,"  which  nobody 
had  ever  seen  opened,  was  found  in  the  oriel  room  on  the  seat 
of  the  chair  sacred  to  the  duke  himself  ;  and  a  cricket  cap  of 
Diavolo's  was  discovered  on  one  of  the  tall  candles  which  stood 
on  the  altar  in  the  private  chapel  of  the  castle,  as  if  it  had  been 
used  as  an  extinguisher.  A  peculiar  intentness  was  also 


THE  HEAVENLY   T IV INS.  255 

observed  in  the  expression  of  the  children's  countenances 
which  was  thought  to  betoken  mischief,  because  always  hither 
to  it  had  been  noticed  that  when  the  gravity  of  their  de 
meanour  was  most  exemplary,  the  wickedness  of  the  design 
upon  which  they  were  engaged  was  sure  to  be  extreme.  But 
all  the  old  symptoms  were  misleading  at  this  time,  for  the 
twins  settled  down  at  once,  with  lively  intelligent  interest,  to 
the  innocent  occupation  of  studying  the  ways  of  the  household, 
their  own  conduct  being  distinguished  for  the  most  part  by  a 
masterly  inactivity.  For  the  truth  was  they  were  thinking. 
They  had  lately  taken  to  reading  the  books  and  papers  and 
magazines  of  the  day,  which  they  found  in  the  library  at 
Hamilton  House  ;  and  at  Morne  they  followed  the  same 
occupation,  and  thus  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  ques 
tions  which  interested  them  treated  from  different  points  of 
view.  At  home  all  had  been  Liberal,  Protestant,  and  progres 
sive  ;  but  at  Morne  the  tendency  of  everything  was  Roman 
Catholic,  Conservative,  and  retrograde  ;  and  they  were  doing 
their  best,  as  their  conversations  with  different  people  at  this 
time  showed,  to  discover  the  why  and  wherefore,  and  right  and 
wrong  of  the  difference.  Angelica  was  naturally  the  first  to 
draw  definite  conclusions  for  herself,  and  having  made  up  her 
own  mind  she  began  to  instruct  Diavolo.  She  was  teaching 
him  to  respect  women,  for  one  thing;  when  he  didn't  respect 
them  she  beat  him  ;  and  this  made  him  thoughtful,  h 

"You  wouldn't  strike  me  if  you  didn't  know  that  I  can't 
strike  you  back,  because  you're  a  girl,"  he  remonstrated. 

"And  you  wouldn't  say  that  if  you  didn't  know  that  the 
cruellest  thing  you  can  do  to  a  woman  is  to  hurt  her  feelings," 
she  retorted. 

"  Oh,  feelings  !  "  exclaimed  Diavolo.  "  You've  got  castanets 
that  clack  where  you  should  have  feelings." 

Angelica  raised  her  hand,  and  then  dropped  it  by  her  side 
again,  and  looked  at  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this  nonsense  ?  "  she  demanded. 
"We  always  have  fought  everything  out  ever  since  we  were 
born." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  regretfully,  "  and  you  used  to  be  as  hard  as 
nails.  When  I  got  a  good  hit  at  you  it  made  my  knuckles 
tingle.  But  now  you're  getting  all  boggy  everywhere.  Just 
look  at  your  arms  !  " 

Angelica  ripped  her  tight  sleeve  open  to  the  shoulder  with 
one  of  her  sudden  jerks,  and  looked  at  her  arm. 


2 5 6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  Now,  see  mine,"  said  Diavolo,  taking  off  his  coat,  and  turn 
ing  his  shirt  sleeve  up  in  his  more  deliberate  way. 

Angelica  held  out  her  arm  beside  his  to  compare  them. 
Hers  was  round  and  white  and  firm,  with  every  little  blue  vein 
visible  beneath  the  fine  transparent  skin  ;  his  was  all  hard 
muscle  and  bone,  burnt  brown  with  the  sun,  and  coarse  of 
texture  compared  with  hers. 

"  You  see,  now  !  "  he  said. 

Angelica  slowly  drew  down  the  tattered  remains. of  her 
sleeve,  and  then  she  looked  at  Diavolo  thoughtfully,  and  from 
him  to  a  full-length  reflection  of  herself  in  a  long  mirror  on 
the  wall. 

"  We're  growing  up  !  "  she  said,  in  a  surprised  sort  of  tone. 

"  You  are,"  he  said,  "/seem  to  be  just  about  as  young  as 
ever  I  was." 

"  All  the  more  reason  that  I  should  teach  you,  then,"  said 
Angelica.  "  Education  matures  the  mind,  and  the  principal 
instrument  of  education  for  your  sex  has  always  been  a  stick. 
Women  are  open  to  reason  from  their  cradles,  but  men  have  to 
be  whopped.  They  are  thrashed  at  school,  that  being,  as  they 
have  always  maintained  themselves,  the  best  way  to  deal  with 
them.  *  He  that  spareth  the  rod  hateth  his  son  :  but  he  that- 
loveth  him  chasteneth  him  betimes.'  And  '  Withhold  not  cor 
rection  from  the  child  :  for  if  thou  beatest  him  with  the  rod, 
he  shall  not  die/  It  is  only  the  boys,  you  see,  that  have  their 
minds  enlarged  in  that  way,  because,  if  you  tell  a  girl  a  thing, 
she  understands  it  at  once.  And  when  men  grow  up  and  things 
go  wrong,  they  still  think  they  ought  to  thrash  each  other. 
That  is  also  their  primitive  way  of  settling  the  disputes  of  na 
tions  ;  they  just  hack  each  other  down  in  hundreds,  sacrificing 
the  lives  which  are  precious  to  the  women  they  should  be  loving, 
for  the  sake  of  ideas  that  are  always  changing.  You  certainly 
are  the  stupid  part  of  humanity  !  "  she  concluded.  "  And  how 
you  ever  discovered  the  way  to  manage  each  other,  I  can't 
imagine.  But  it  was  the  right  one.  *  A  whip  for  the  horse,  a 
bridle  for  the  ass,  and  a  rod  for  the  fool's  back.'" — and  so 
saying,  she  flounced  out  of  the  room,  without,  however,  ad 
ministering  the  parting  slap  of  another  kind  which  he  expected. 

But  the  episode  made  a  lasting  impression  on  Diavolo,  as 
was  apparent  in  much  that  he  said,  and  particularly  in  some 
remarks  which  he  made  during  a  conversation  he  had  with  his 
grandfather  toward  the  end  of  the  year. 

A  capital  understanding  had  always  existed  between  Diavolo 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS,  257 

and  his  grandfather,  a  fact  which  caused  Lady  Adeline's  heart 
to  sink  every  time  she  observed  it,  but  had  an  opposite  effect 
on  the  duke  himself — a  quite  exhilarating  effect,  indeed,  which 
was  the  cause  of  certain  of  those  lapses  which  Lady  Fulda  had 
so  often  to  deplore — as  when,  for  instance,  he  aided  and  abetted 
Diavolo  in  some  of  his  worst  tricks,  and  then  had  to  sit  sheep 
ishly  by,  saying  nothing,  when  the  boy  was  found  out  and 
corrected.  Lady  Fulda  was  puzzled  by  the  intelligent  glances 
that  passed  between  the  two  at  such  times,  but  Diavolo  was 
perfectly  loyal,  and  never  once  got  his  grandfather  into 
trouble. 

One  of  the  dreams  of  the  old  duke's  life  was  to  make  a  good 
Catholic  of  Diavolo,  and  to  that  end  his  conversation  was 
often  directed — intermittently  it  is  true,  because  Diavolo  was 
skilled  in  the  art  of  beguiling  him  into  other  subjects  when  it 
suited  himself. 

The  duke  was  turning  his  attention  at  this  time,  under  Lady 
Fulda's  direction,  to  the  spiritual  welfare  of  that  class  of 
women  which  in  former  times  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
countenance  in  quite  another  way.  Lady  Fulda  had  estab 
lished  a  refuge  for  these  in  Morningquest,  and  her  father  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  success  of  the  undertaking.  The 
Heavenly  Twins  were  also  much  interested.  At  first  they 
could  not  make  out  why  their  Aunt  Fulda  so  often  breakfasted 
in  her  outdoor  dress,  and  whether  she  had  just  come  in  or  was 
just  going  out. 

If  there  were  no  visitors  staying  at  the  castle,  the  party  at 
breakfast  was  small,  there  being  only  the  old  duke,  Father 
Ricardo,  Mr.  Ellis,  and  the  Heavenly  Twins,  as  a  rule.  When 
Lady  Fulda  did  appear  the  meal  was  usually  half  over. 

The  duke  sat  at  the  end  of  the  long  table,  with  the  twins  on 
either  side  of  him,  but  he  was  generally  limp  and  querulous  in 
the  morning,  and  more  kindly  disposed  toward  Father  Ricardo 
than  to  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  as  Angelica  pointed  out  on 
one  occasion. 

When  Lady  Fulda  came  in  she  always  went  up  to  her  father 
and  kissed  him.  He  did  not  rise  to  receive  the  salute,  but  he 
invariably  held  her  hand  some  seconds,  and  asked  :  "  Any 
news?"  anxiously  ;  to  which  she  always  answered  "  Yes  "  or 
"  No  "  ;  and  then  he  would  say  :  "  You  must  tell  me  after 
ward.  Go  to  your  seat  now.  Take  plenty  of  rest  and  refresh 
ment  Both  are  necessary  ;  both  are  necessary  !  " 

The  Heavenly  Twins  were  inclined  to  regard  this  scene  with 


258  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

the  scorn  and  contempt  of  ignorance  at  first  ;  but  when  Lord 
Dawne  came  to  the  castle  for  a  few  days,  with  their  widowed 
aunt  Lady  Claudia  and  Ideala,  and  all  these  paid  the  same 
reverent  attention  to  Lady  Fulda's  report  as  the  duke  and 
Father  Ricardo  did,  they  reserved  judgment  until  they  should 
know  more  about  the  matter. 

They  asked  Mr.  Ellis  for  an  explanation,  but  he  told  them 
bluntly  to  mind  their  own  business,  and  further  puzzled  them 
by  a  remark  which  they  chanced  to  hear  him  make  about 
Lady  Fulda  to  Dr.  Galbraith.  They  did  not  overhear  what  Dr. 
Galbraith  had  said  to  lead  up  to  it,  but  Mr.  Ellis  answered: 
"  Grasp  her  character  ?  She  is  not  a  character  at  all  !  She's 
a  beautiful  abstraction.  Now  Ideala  is  human." 

Although  the  twins  were  Protestants  by  education — and  also 
by  nature,  one  may  say — it  had  pleased  them  to  go  regularly 
to  certain  services  in  the  chapel  from  the  day  of  their  arrival 
at  the  castle. 

"  We  enjoy  them  very  much,"  Angelica  said,  to  the  great 
delight  of  her  aunt  and  grandfather. 

"  I  am  sure  the  atmosphere  of  devotion  in  which  we  live 
will  have  its  effect  upon  the  children,"  the  latter  said  several 
times. 

And  so  it  had.  It  was  never  the  low  mass,  however,  at 
which  they  appeared,  but  the  more  sensuous,  sumptuous  func 
tions,  when  there  was  music,  of  which  they  both  were  exceed 
ingly  fond,  both  of  them  being  excellent  musicians. 

Soon  after  her  arrival  at  the  castle  Angelica  bought  a  big 
drum.  She  said  she  couldn't  express  her  feelings  on  any 
other  instrument  on  Sunday,  her  spiritual  fervour  was  so  exces 
sive.  Her  behaviour  in  chapel,  however,  was  for  the  most 
part  exemplary.  Her  aunt  noticed  that  she  often  knelt  all 
through  the  service  with  a  book  before  her,  thoroughly  absorbed. 
Lady  Fulda  was  anxious  to  know  what  the  book  was,  and  on 
one  occasion,  when  Angelica  remained  on  her  knees  after  the 
congregation  had  dispersed,  with  her  handkerchief  pressed  to 
her  face,  apparently  deeply  moved,  her  aunt  stole  up  behind 
her  softly,  and  peeped  over  her  shoulder,  expecting  to  see  a 
holy  "  Imitation,"  or  something  of  that  kind  ;  but,  to  her 
horror,  she  found  that  the  book  was  Burnand's  "  Happy 
Thoughts,"  and  that  Angelica's  gurglings  were  not  tears  of 
repentance,  but  suppressed  explosions  of  hearty  laughter. 

This  happened  during  what  proved  to  be  rather  a  trying 
time  for  Lady  Fulda.  It  was  while  Lord  Dawne,  Lady  Claudia. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  259 

and  Ideala  were  at  the  castle,  and  the  old  duke  wasv  as  Lady 
Fulda  delicately  phrased  it  to  her  sister  Claudia  in  private, 
"  inclined  to  be  tiresome."  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  had 
several  relapses.  One  of  these  happened  in  chapel  during 
benediction. 

The  choir  had  been  singing  O  Salutaris,  Hostia  !  at  the  con 
clusion  of  which  everybody  was  startled  by  a  senile  cheer  from 
the  stalls.  The  duke  had  dosed  off  into  a  dream  of  the  opera, 
and  had  awakened  suddenly,  under  the  impression  that  a 
wooden  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  opposite  had  just  com 
pleted  a  lovely  solo,  and  was  unexpectedly  following  it  up  by 
an  audacious  pas  seuL 

"Aren't  our  ancestors  like  us?"  Diavolo  whispered  to  An 
gelica  enthusiastically.  But  Angelica  dampened  his  ardent 
admiration  of  the  coup  by  refusing  to  believe  that  the  diminutive 
duke  had  "  done  it  on  purpose." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  next  day  Diavolo  happened  to  stroll  into  the  oriel  room 
about  tea-time,  and  finding  his  grandfather  sitting  there 
alone,  looking  down  upon  Morningquest  from  his  accustomed 
seat  in  the  great  deep  window,  which  was  open,  he  carefully 
chose  a  soft  cushion,  placing  it  on  the  low  sill  so  that  he  could 
rest  his  back  against  it,  and  stretching  himself  out  on  the  floor, 
looked  up  at  the  old  gentleman  sociably. 

"  You're  growing  a  big  fellow,  sir,"  the  latter  observed. 

"  But  not  growing  so  fast  as  Angelica  is,"  said  Diavolo. 

"Ah,  women  mature  earlier,"  said  the  duke.  "But  their 
minds  never  get  far  beyond  the  first  point  at  which  they 
arrive." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  when  they  marry  at  seventeen,  or 
their  education  is  otherwise  stopped  short  for  them,  just  when 
a  man  is  beginning  his  properly?"  Diavolo  languidly  sug 
gested. 

The  duke  frowned  down  at  him.  "  Where  is  your  sister  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  That  I  can't  tell  you,"  Diavolo  answered. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  the  duke  said  sharply. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  cool  rejoinder  ;  "  but  I  don't  happen  to  have 
my  sister's  permission  to  say." 

The  old  man's  face  relaxed  into  a  smile  :     u  That's  right 


260  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

my  boy,  that's  right,"  he  said.  "  Loyalty  is  a  grand  virtue, 
Be  loyal  to  the  ladies  " — he  shook  his  head  in  search  of  an 
improving  aphorism,  but  only  succeeded  in  extracting  a  familiar 
saw.  "  Kiss,  but  never  tell,"  he  said,  "  it's  vulgarly  put,  my 
boy,  but  there's  a  whole  code  in  it,  and  a  damned  chivalrous 
code,  too.  I  tell  you,  men  were  gentlemen  when  they  stuck 
to  it." 

There  was  a  sound  of  stealthy  footsteps  in  the  room  at  this 
moment,  and  the  old  duke  glanced  over  his  shoulder  appre 
hensively,  while  Diavolo  bent  to  one  side  to  peer  round  the 
chair  his  grandfather  was  sitting  in,  which  was  between  him 
and  the  door. 

"  It's  one  of  the  dogs,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  Father  Ricardo 
is  out,  I  think." 

The  duke  looked  relieved. 

"  Well,"  Diavolo  resumed,  reflectively,  "  I  should  have 
thought  myself  that  it  was  playing  it  pretty  low  down  to  sneak 
on  a  woman.  But,  I  say,  sir,"  he  asked  innocently,  "  how 
would  you  define  a  lady-killer  ?  " 

"  Lady-killer,"  said  the  little  old  gentleman,  taking  hold  of 
his  collar  to  perk  himself  up  out  of  his  clothes,  as  it  were,  on 
the  strength  of  his  past  reputation  :  "  A  lady-killer  is  a — eh — a 
fellow  whom  ladies — eh — admire." 

"  Do  you  mean  real  ladies,  or  only  pretty  women  ?  "  said 
Diavolo. 

"  Both,  my  boy,  both,"  the  duke  answered  complacently.  He 
was  beginning  to  enjoy  himself. 

"  You  were  one  once,  were  you  not,  sir  ?  "  said  Diavolo.  "  I 
suppose  you  had  a  deuced  good  time  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  the  duke  ejaculated,  with  a  sigh  of  retrospective 
satisfaction.  Then,  suddenly  remembering  his  new  role,  he 
pulled  himself  up,  and  added  severely.  "  But  keep  clear  of 
women,  my  boy,  keep  clear  of  women.  Women  are  the  very 
devil,  sir." 

"  But  supposing  they  run  after  you  ? "  said  Diavolo. 
"  Nowadays,  you  know,  a  fellow  gets  so  hunted  down — they 
say." 

"  Oh — ah — then.  In  that  case,  you  see,"  said  the  duke, 
relapsing,  "  the  principle  has  always  been  to  take  the  goods 
the  gods  may  send  you,  and  be  thankful." 

There  was  a  pause  after  this,  during  which  the  duke  again 
recollected  himself. 

"  We  were  talking  about  women,"  he  sternly  recommenced, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  261 

"and  I  was  warning  you  that  their  wiles  are  snares  of  the 
evil  one,  who  finds  them  ever  ready  to  carry  out  his  worst 
behests.  Women  are  bad." 

"  Are  they,  now  ?  "  said  Diavolo.  "  Well,  I  should  have 
thought,  taking  them  all  round,  you  know,  that  they're  a 
precious  sight  better  than  we  are." 

"  It  was  a  woman,  my  boy,"  the  duke  said  solemnly,  "who 
compassed  the  fall  of  man." 

"  Well,"  Diavolo  rejoined,  with  a  calmly  judicial  air,  "  I've 
thought  a  good  deal  about  that  story  myself,  and  it  doesn't 
seem  to  me  to  prove  that  women  are  weak,  but  rather  the  con 
trary.  For  you  see,  the  woman  could  tempt  the  man  easily 
enough  ;  but  it  took  the  very  old  devil  himself  to  tempt  the 
woman." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  duke,  looking  hard  at  his  grandson. 

"  And,  at  any  rate,"  Diavolo  pursued,  "  it  happened  a  good 
while  ago,  that  business,  and  it's  just  as  likely  as  not  that  it 
was  Adam  whom  the  devil  first  put  up  to  a  thing  or  two,  and 
Eve  got  it  out  of  him — for  I  grant  you  that  women  are  curi 
ous — and  then  they  both  came  a  cropper  together,  and  it  was 
a  case  of  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other.  It  mostly 
is,  I  should  think,  in  a  business  of  that  kind." 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  the  duke.  "  In  my  own  experience,  I 
always  found  that  we  were  just  about  one  as  bad  as  the 
other  " — and  he  chuckled. 

"  Then,  we  may  conclude  that  there  is  a  doubt  about  that 
Garden  of  Eden  story  whichever  way  you  look  at  it,  and  it's 
too  old  for  an  argument  at  any  rate,"  said  Diavolo.  "  But 
there  is  no  doubt  about  the  redemption.  It  was  a  woman  who 
managed  that  little  affair.  And,  altogether,  it  seems  to  me,  in 
spite  of  the  disadvantage  of  being  classed  by  law  with  children, 
lunatics,  beggars,  and  irresponsible  people  generally,  that,  in 
the  matter  of  who  have  done  most  good  in  the  world,  women 
come  out  a  long  chalk  ahead  of  us." 

"  Why  the  devil  don't  you  speak  English,  sir  !  "  the  duke 
burst  out  testily. 

Diavolo  started.  "  Good  gracious,  grandpapa  !  "  he  began 
with  his  customary  deliberation,  "  how  sudden  you  are  !  You 
quite  made  me  jump.  Is  it  the  slang  you  don't  like  ?  " 

"Yes  sir,  it  is  the  slang  I  don't  like." 

"  Then  you've  only  got  to  say  so,"  said  Diavolo  in  a  tone  of 
mild  remonstrance.  "  You  really  quite  upset  me  when  you're 
so  sudden.  Angelica  will  tell  you  I  neverxcould  stand  being 


262  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

startled.  She's  tried  all  kinds  of  things  to  cure  me.  You  can't 
frighten  me,  you  know.  It's  just  the  jump  I  object  to." 

"  Oh,  you  object,  do  you  ?  "  said  the  duke,  bending  his  brows 
upon  him.  "  Then  I  apologise." 

"  Oh,  no  !  pray  don't  mention  it,  sir,"  said  Diavolo.  "  I 
didn't  mean  you  to  go  so  far  as  that,  you  know.  And  it's  over 
in  a  minute." 

Angelica  burst  into  the  room  at  this  point,  followed  by  two 
or  three  dogs,  and  immediately  took  up  her  favourite  position 
on  the  arm  of  her  grandfather's  chair. 

"  I  want  some  tea,"  she  said. 

"  It's  coming,"  said  Diavolo. 

"  You  say  that  because  you  don't  want  the  trouble  of  getting 
up  to  ring,"  Angelica  retorted. 

Diavolo  looked  at  her  provokingly,  and  she  was  about  to  say 
something  tart,  when  a  footman  opened  the  door  wide,  and  two 
others  entered  carrying  the  tea-things,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  rest  of  the  party  began  to  assemble. 

Lady  Fulda  was  the  first  to  arrive  with  her  widowed  sister, 
Lady  Claudia.  They  presented  a  great  contrast,  the  one  being 
so  perfectly  lovely,  the  other  so  decidedly  plain.  Lady  Claudia 
was  a  tall  gaunt  woman,  hard  in  manner,  with  no  pretension  to 
any  accomplishments  ;  but  wise,  and  of  a  faithful,  affectionate 
disposition,  which  deeply  endeared  her  to  her  friends. 

Lord  Dawne  came  in  next,  with  Dr.  Galbraith  and  Mr.  Kil- 
roy  of  Ilverthorpe,  and  these  were  followed  by  Father  Ricardo 
and  Mr.  Ellis,  after  whom  came  Ideala  herself,  alone. 

This  was  before  she  made  her  name,  but  already  people 
spoke  of  her  ;  and  theoretically  men  were  supposed  not  to  like 
-  her  "  because  of  her  ideas,  don't  you  know,"  which  were 
strongly  opposed  in  some  circles,  especially  by  those  who  either 
did  not  know  or  could  not  understand  them.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  mankind  have  a  rooted  objection  to  be  judged  when 
the  judge  is  a  woman.  If  they  cannot  in  common  honesty 
deny  the  wisdom  of  her  decisions  they  attack  her  for  venturing 
to  decide  at  all. 

"  Now,"  said  Angelica,  skipping  over  to  a  couch  beside  which 
Mr.  Kilroy  was  sitting,  "  now,  we  shall  have  a  little  interesting 
conversation  !  " 

"  I  hope  you  will  kindly  allow  us  to  have  a  little  interesting 
tea  first,"  said  Diavolo,  who  had  risen  politely  when  the  other 
ladies  entered  the  room,  a  formality  which  he  omitted  in  An- 
gelica's  case  because  he  insisted  that  she  wasn't  a  lady. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  263 

When  the  tea  was  handed  round,  and  the  servants  had  with 
drawn,  he  lounged  over  to  the  couch  where  she  was,  in  his 
deliberate  way,  sat  down  beside  her,  and  put  his  tea  cup  on  the 
floor  ;  and  then  they  put  their  arms  round  each  other,  slanted 
their  heads  together,  and  sat  expectant.  This  had  been  a 
favourite  position  of  theirs  from  the  time  they  could  sit  up  at 
all,  and  when  there  was  a  good  deal  of  gossip  going  on  about 
them  it  had  always  been  a  treat  to  see  them  sitting  so,  with 
blank  countenances  and  ears  open,  collecting  capital  doubtless 
for  new  outrages  on  public  decency. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  talk  about.  Angelica  ?  "  Ideala  asked, 
smiling. 

"  Oh,  a  lot  of  things,"  Angelica  exclaimed,  straightening 
herself  energetically,  and  giving  Diavolo's  head  a  knock  with 
her  own  to  make  him  move  it  out  of  the  way.  "  I've  been 
reading,  you  know,  and  I  want  you  to  explain.  I  want  to  know 
how  people  can  be  so  silly." 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  Ideala  asked. 

"  Well,  I'm  thinking  of  Aunt  Fulda,"  said  the  candid 
Angelica.  "You  know,  she  very  much  wants  to  make  a 
Roman  Catholic  of  me,  and  she  gave  me  some  books  to  read, 
and  of  course  I  read  them.  They  were  all  about  the  Church 
being  the  true  church  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  And  then  I 
got  a  lot  of  books  about  other  churches,  and  each  said  that  // 
was  the  true  church  just  as  positively,  and  Aunt  Fulda  told 
me  that  anyone  who  would  read  about  her  church  must  be 
convinced  that  it  is  the  true  church,  but  the  difficulty  is  to  get 
people  to  read;  so  when  I  found  these  other  books  I  took 
them  to  her  to  show  her  all  about  the  other  true  churches,  and 
I  told  her  she  ought  to  read  them,  because  if  there  were  truth 
in  any  of  them,  we  could  none  of  us  possibly  be  saved  unless 
we  belonged  to  all  the  different  churches.  But  do  you  know, 
she  wouldn't  look  at  a  book  !  She  said  she  wasn't  allowed  to  ! 
Now  !  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  and  after  telling  me  what 
a  mistake  it  was  not  to  read  !  " 

Lady  Fulda  and  her  father  were  talking  together  in  the 
window,  and  did  not  therefore  overhear  these  remarks,  but 
Father  Ricardo  was  listening,  and  Ideala  flashed  a  mischievous 
glance  at  him  as  Angelica  spoke. 

"  Then,"  the  latter  continued  before  anyone  could  answer 
her,  "Aunt  Fulda  is  just  as  good  as  she  possibly  can  be,  and 
Father  Ricardo  says  it  is  because  she  has  submitted  to  his 
Holy  Church  ;  and  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  and  mamma  are  also  as 


264  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

good  as  they  possibly  can  be,  and  the  Bishop  of  Morning, 
quest  says  that  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  is  a  holy  woman  because  she 
is  a  humble  follower  of  Christ,  but  he  rather  shakes  his  head 
about  mamma.  Uncle  Dawne,  however,  and  Dr.  Galbraith 
both  maintain  that  mamma  is  admirable,  because  she  doesn't 
trouble  her  head  about  churches  and  creeds  any  longer.  She 
used  to  do  so  once,  but  now  she  thinks  only  of  what  is  morally 
right  or  wrong,  and  leaves  the  ecclesiastical  muddle  for  the 
divines  to  get  out  of  as  best  they  can.  Mamma  used  to  dread 
bringing  us  to  Morne  when  we  were  younger;  we  were  always 
so  outrageous  here;  and  we  told  her  it  was  Aunt  Fulda  who 
made  us  so,  because  she  is  too  good,  and  the  balance  of  nature 
has  to  be  preserved.  But,  now,  I  am  sure  Aunt  Claudia  is 
quite  as  good  as  she  is,  and  so  are  you,  and  mamma,  and  Mrs. 
Orton  Beg." 

Ideala  smiled  at  her.  "  And  so  you  are  puzzled  ?"  she  said. 
"Well,  now,  I  will  explain.  Your  aunts  and  mother,  and 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  are  all  of  those  people  born  good,  who  would 
have  been  saints  in  any  calendar,  Buddhist,  Christian,  or 
Jewish.  They  come  occasionally — these  good  people — to 
cause  confusion  on  the  subject  of  original  sin,  and  overthrow 
the  pride  of  professors  who  maintain  that  their  own  code  of 
religious  ethics  must  be  the  right  one  because  it  produces  the 
best  specimens  of  humanity.  There  was  a  Chinese  lady  living 
at  Shanghai  a  few  years  ago,  a  devout  Buddhist,  who,  in  her 
habits  of  life,  her  character,  her  prayers,  her  penances,  and 
her  sweetness  of  disposition,  exactly  resembled  your  Aunt 
Fulda,  the  only  difference  between  them  being  the  names  of 
the  ideal  of  goodness  upon  whom  they  called  for  help.  Their 
virtues  were  identical,  and  the  moral  outcome  of  their  lives 
was  the  same." 

"  I  see  what  you  mean  !  "  Angelica  burst  out.  *  And  you 
wouldn't  say  either  4  convert '  or  *  pervert '  yourself,  would 
you  ? " 

"  Well,  no,"  Ideala  acknowledged,  **  I  always  adopt  a  little 
pleonasm  myself  to  avoid  Christian  controversy,  and  say 
'when  So-and-so  became'  a  Roman  or  Anglican  Catholic,  a 
Protestant,  Positivist,  or  whatever  else  it  might  be;  and  I  let 
them  say  '  convert '  or  '  pervert,'  whichever  they  like,  to  me, 
because  I  know  that  it  really  cannot  matter,  so  long  as  they 
are  agreeable — not  that  anybody  ever  expects  them  to  be,  poor 
little  people  !  although  they  know  quite  well  that  they  should 
never  let  their  angry  passions  rise.  They  have  no  sense  of 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S.  265 

humour  at  all !  But  just  fancy,  how  silly  it  must  seem  to  the 
angels  when  Miss  Protestant  throws  down  a  book  she  is  read 
ing  and  shrieks,  'Convert,  indeed  !  '  while  Miss  Catholic  at  the 
same  moment  groans, '  Pervert,'  indignantly  !  Must  be  '  some 
thing  rotten  in  the  state  of  Denmark,'  surely,  or  one  or  other 
of  them  would  have  proved  their  point  by  this  time.  Or  do 
you  suppose,"  she  added,  looking  at  Lord  Davvne,  "that  the 
opposition  is  mercifully  preordained  by  nature  to  generate  the 
right  amount  of  heat  by  friction  to  keep  things  going  so  that 
we  do  not  come  to  a  standstill  on  the  way  to  human  perfection  ? 
It  is  very  wonderful  any  way,"  she  added — "  to  the  looker  on; 
wonderfully  funny  !  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  Lady  Adeline  had  definitely  left  the 
Church  of  England,"  Mr.  Kilroy  observed,  "  and  I  am  sur 
prised  to  hear  it." 

" Are  you  ?"  said  Ideala.  "Now,  we  were  not.  Adeline 
has  always  been  of  a  deeply  religious  disposition  ;  but  it  was 
not  bound  to  be,  and  it  was  never  likely  to  be,  the  religion  of 
any  church  which  would  secure  her  lasting  reverence." 

"I  wonder  what  the  religion  of  the  future  will  be?"  Mr. 
Kilroy  remarked. 

"  It  will  consist  in  the  deepest  reverence  for  moral  worth, 
the  tenderest  pity  for  the  frailties  of  human  nature,  the  most 
profound  faith  in  its  ultimate  perfectibility,"  Ideala  answered. 
"  The  religion  of  the  future  must  be  a  thing  about  which  there 
can  be  no  doubt,  and  consequently  no  dispute.  It  will.be  for 
the  peace  arid  perfecting  of  man,  not  for  the  exercise  of  his 
power  to  outwit  an  antagonist  in  an  argument;  and  there  are 
only  the  great  moral  truths,  perceived  since  the  beginning  of 
thought,  but  hard  to  hold  as  principles  of  action  because  the 
higher  faculties  to  which  they  appeal  are  of  slower  growth 
than  the  lower  ones  which  they  should  control,  and  the  delights 
they  offer  are  of  a  nature  too  delicate  to  be  appreciated  by 
uncultured  palates;  but  it  is  in  these,  the  infinite  truths,  known 
to  Buddha,  reflected  by  Plato,  preached  by  Christ,  undoubted, 
undisputed  even  by  the  spirit  of  evil,  that  religion  must  con 
sist,  and  is  steadily  growing  to  consist,  while  the  questionable 
man-made  gauds  of  sensuous  service  are  gradually  being  set 
aside.  The  religion  of  the  future  will  neither  be  a  political 
institution,  nor  a  means  of  livelihood,  but  an  expression  of  the 
highest  moral  attribute,  human  or  divine — disinterested  love." 

She  sat  for  some  time,  looking  down  at  the  floor,  and  lost  in 
thought  when  she  had  said  this;  and  then,  rousing  herself,  she 


266  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

turned  to  Father  Ricardo.  "  I  had  a  fit  of  Roman  Catholicism 
once  myself,"  she  said  to  him,  pleasantly.  "  I  enjoyed  it  very 
much  while  it  lasted.  But  you  do  a  great  deal  of  harm,  you 
clergy  !  In  the  first  place  you  begin  by  setting  up  Christ  as 
an  ideal  of  perfect  manhood,  and  then  you  proceed  to  demolish 
him  as  a  possible  example,  by  maintaining  that  he  was  not  a 
man,  but  a  God,  and  therefore  a  being  whom  it  is  beyond  the 
power  of  man  to  imitate  !  Oh,  you  terrible,  terrible  clergy  ! 
You  preach  the  parable  of  the  buried  talents,  and  side  by  side 
with  that  you  have  always  insisted  that  women  should  put 
theirs  away;  and  you  have  soothed  their  sensitive  consciences 
with  the  dreadful  cant  of  obedience — not  obedience  to  the 
moral  law,  but  obedience  to  the  will  of  man  ;  for  what  moral 
law  could  be  affected  by  the  higher  education  of  women?" 

"  The  Anglican  Church  is  rather  countenancing  the  higher 
education  of  women,  is  it  not  ? "  said  Mr.  Kilroy. 

"  You  don't  put  it  properly,"  Ideala  answered.  "  Women, 
after  a  hard  battle,  secured  for  themselves  their  own  higher 
education,  and  now  that  it  is  being  found  to  answer,  the 
churches  are  coming  in  to  claim  the  credit.  Dear,  how  rapidly 
reforms  are  carried  out  when  we  take  them  in  hand  our 
selves  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  All  the  spiritual  power  is  ours,  and 
while  we  refuse  to  know,  it  must  be  wasted  for  want  of  direc 
tion." 

"  But  that  is  what  you  reject,"  said  Father  Ricardo.  "  The 
Church  is  ever  ready  to  direct  her  children." 

"For  her  own  advantage,  and  very  badly," Ideala  answered. 
"  Does  her  direction  ever  benefit  the  human  race  generally,  or 
anybody  but  herself  in  particular  ?  Every  great  reform  has 
been  forced  on  the  Church  from  outside.  Just  consider  the 
state  of  degradation,  and  the  dense  ignorance  of  the  people  of 
every  country  upon  which  the  curse  of  Catholicism  rests! 
*  Wherever  churches  and  monasteries  abound  the  people  are 
backward  '  it  is  written.  Just  lately,  there  has  been  a  little 
revival  of  Catholicism,  a  flash  in  the  pan,  here  in  England,  due 
to  Cardinal  Newman  and  Cardinal  Manning,  who  introduced 
some  good  old  Protestant  virtues  into  your  teaching;  but  that 
cannot  last.  You  carry  the  instrument  of  your  own  destruction 
along  with  you  in  the  degrading  exercises  with  which  you  seek 
to  debase  our  beautiful,  wonderful,  perfectible  human  nature." 

"  But  the  Church  has  done  all  that  is  possible  for  the  people,'* 
Father  Ricardo  began  lamely.  "The  Church  has  always 
taught,  for  one  thing,  that  the  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  267 

"  But  the  Church  never  used  its  influence  to  make  the  hire 
worthy  of  the  labourer ;  instead  of  that,  it  has  always  sought 
to  grind  the  last  penny  out  of  the  people,  and  then  it  pauperized 
them  with  alms,"  said  Ideala. 

"  Why  have  the  priests  done  so  little  good,  Uncle  Dawne  ?" 
Diavolo  asked. 

"  Because  they  are  no  better  than  other  people,"  was  the 
answer,  "  and  when  they  get  money  they  use  it  just  as  every 
body  else  does,  to  strengthen  their  own  position,  and  make  a 
display  with." 

"  Ah,  the  terrible  mistake  it  has  been,  this  making  a  paid 
profession  of  the  doing  of  good  !  "  Ideala  exclaimed. 

Angelica,  who  had  put  her  arm  round  Diavolo-again,  and 
was  sitting  with  her  head  against  his,  listening  gravely,  now 
looked  at  Ideala :  "  I  want  to  know  where  the  true  spirit  of 
God  is,"  she  said. 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  Ideala  answered  fearlessly.  "  It  is  in  us 
women.  We  have  preserved  it,  and  handed  it  down  from  one 
generation  to  another  of  our  own  sex  unsullied  ;  and  very  soon 
we  shall  be  called  upon  to  prove  the  possession  of  it,  for 
already  " — she  turned  to  Father  Ricardo  here,  and  specially 
addressed  him,  speaking  always  in  gentle  tones,  without 
emphasis — "  already  I — that  is  to  say  Woman — am  a  power  in 
the  land,  while  you — that  is  to  say  Priest — retain  ever  less  and 
less  even  of  the  semblance  of  power. 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  lady,"  the  priest  replied  ;  "but  it  shocks 
me  to  hear  you  assume  such  an  arrogant  tone." 

"  I  don't  think  the  tone  was  in  the  least  arrogant,"  Angelica 
put  in  briskly  ;  "  and,  at  any  rate,  it's  your  own  tone  exactly, 
for  I've  heard  you  say  as  much  and  more,  speaking  of  the 
priesthood." 

"  Not  exactly,"  Diavolo  corrected  her.  "  Father  Ricardo 
always  says  :  '  Heaven,  for  some  great  inscrutable  purpose,  has 
mercifully  vouchsafed  this  wondrous  power  to  us,  poor  ' — or 
humble  or  unworthy  ;  the  first  adjective  of  that  kind  he  can 
catch — 'priests.'  I  like  the  short  way  of  putting  it  myself." 

"  But  why  do  you  always  try  to  make  out  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  be  miserable  sinners  ?  "  Angelica  asked. 

"  If  we  taught  ourselves  to  be  happy  in  this  world,  we  should 
grow  to  love  it  too  much,  and  then  we  should  not  strive  to  win 
the  next." 

"  And  that  would  impoverish  the  Church  ?  "  Diavolo  sug 
gested. 


268  THE  HEAVENLY   7 WINS. 

"  But  why  not  let  us  be  happy,  and  you  raise  money  in  some 
other  way  ?  "  Angelica  wanted  to  know.  "  Miracles — now  I 
should  try  some  miracles  ;  a  miracle  must  be  much  better  than 
a  bazaar  to  raise  the  funds." 

"  Oh,  but  you  forget  the  nunneries  Father  Ricardo  was 
telling  us  about  the  other  day,"  Diavolo  said ;  "  the  austere 
orders  where  they  only  live  a  few  years,  you  know." 

"  I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment,  but  I  read  up  the  subject 
at  the  time,  and  found  out  that  when  the  nuns  die  all  their 
money  remains  in  the  Church  ;  is  that  what  you  mean  ?  "  said 
the  practical  Angelica. 

"  Yes,"  said  Diavolo.  "  You  see,  it  would  hardly  cost  ten 
shillings  a  week  to  keep  a  nun,  and  of  course,"  he  said  to 
Father  Ricardo,  "the  more  fasting  you  counsel  the  less  outlay 
there  would  be  ;  so  I  don't  wonder  you  promise  them  more 
goodies  in  the  next  world,  the  more  austerities  they  practise 
in  this." 

"  It  must  really  work  like  a  provision  of  nature  for  the 
enrichment  of  Holy  Church — so  many  nuns  worked  off  on  the 
prayer  and  fasting  mill  per  annum,  so  many  unencumbered 
fortunes  added  to  the  establishment,"  Angelica  observed. 

"  Jemsalem  !  "  said  Diavolo.  "  How  easy  it  is  to  gull  the 
public  ! " 

The  Heavenly  Twins  had  been  speaking  in  a  confidential 
tone,  as  if  they  were  behind  the  scenes  with  Father  Ricardo, 
and  now  they  watched  him,  seeming  to  wait  for  him  to  wink — 
at  least,  that  was  how  Dr.  Galbraith  afterward  interpreted  the 
look.  Nothing  of  this  kind  coming  to  pass,  however,  they 
both  got  up,  and  both  together  strolled  out  of  the  room,  yawn 
ing  undisguisedly. 

"  That  child,  Angelica,  will  be  one  of  us,"  Ideala  whispered 
to  Lord  Dawne. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  gravely  ;  "  They  will  both  be  of  us 
eventually ;  only  we  must  make  no  move,  but  wait  in  patience 
*  Until  the  day  break,  and  the  shadows  flee  away.'  " 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THERE  was  much  high  talk  of  doing  good  and  living  for 
others  at  Morne  in  these  days,  to  which  the  twins  listened 
attentively.     It  is  evident  from  the  thoughts  they  expressed 
at  this  time  that  the  minds  of  both  were  in  a  state  of  fermenta- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  269 

tion,  and  that  the  more  active  pursuits-  in  which  they  still 
indulged  occasionally  were  the  mere  outcome  of  habit.  When 
the  conversation  was  interesting,  they  would  sit  beside  Father 
Ricardo  (whom  they  insisted  on  classing  with  themselves  as  an 
inferior  being)  and  watch  the  speakers  by  the  hour  together, 
and  Father  Ricardo  too,  gauging  his  moral  temperature,  and 
noting  every  sigh  of  pity  or  shiver  of  disapprobation  that 
shook  his  sensitive  frame. 

"Where  does  it  hurt  you,  dear?"  Diavolo  asked  him  once. 
"  I  know  you  are  a  bad,  bad  man,  because  you  say  so  your- 
self " 

"  I  never  said  so  ! "  Father  Ricardo  exclaimed  with  a 
puzzled  air. 

"  Well,  you  said  you  were  a  miserable  sinner,  not  worthy, 
ct  cetera,  and  it  comes  to  the  same  thing,"  Diavolo  rejoined  ; 
"and  I  don't  wonder  you  are  disheartened  when  you  see  how 
impossible  it  is  for  you  to  be  as  disinterestedly  good  as  Uncle 
Dawne  and  Dr.  Galbraith.  I  feel  so  myself  sometimes." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  I  am  disinterested,"  Father  Ricardo  protested. 

"  I  can't  make  it  out  if  you  are,"  said  Diavolo,  shaking  his 
head.  "  You  don't  seem  to  love  goodness  for  its  own  sake, 
but  for  the  reward  here  and  hereafter.  The  whole  system 
you  preach  is  one  of  reward  and  punishment." 

Father  Ricardo  had  an  innocent  hobby.  He  was  fond  of 
old  china,  and  had  made  a  beautiful  collection,  with  the  help 
of  such  friends  as  Lord  Dawne,  Dr.  Galbraith,  and  Lady 
Adeline  Hamilton-Wells,  who  never  failed  to  bring  him  back 
any  good  specimen  they  might  find  in  the  course  of  their 
travels. 

One  day  at  this  time,  after  the  talk  had  been  running,  as 
usual,  upon  self-sacrifice  and  living  for  others,  he  invited  the 
whole  party  to  inspect  his  collection  ;  and  they  all  went,  with 
the  exception  of  the  Heavenly  Twins,  who  were  not  to  be 
found  at  the  moment.  When  the  others  reached  the  room  in 
which  Father  Ricardo  kept  his  treasures,  however,  they  were 
surprised  to  find  the  cabinets  comparatively  speaking  bare, 
and  with  great  gaps  on  the  shelves  as  if  someone  had  been 
weeding  them  indiscriminately.  The  good  Father  looked  very 
blank  at  first  ;  but  the  windows  were  wide  open,  and  before 
he  could  think  what  had  happened,  a  noise  on  the  lawn  below 
attracted  everybody's  attention,  and  on  looking  out  to  see 
what  was  the  matter,  they  beheld  the  Heavenly  Twins  appar 
ently  intent  upon  organizing  a  revel.  They  were  very  busy  at 


270  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

the  moment,  and  had  been  for  some  hours  evidently,  for  they 
had  collected  an  organ  man  with  a  monkey  ;  a  wandering  mu 
sician  with  a  harp ;  a  man  with  a  hammer  who  had  been 
engaged  in  breaking  stones  ;  a  Punch  and  Judy  party,  con 
sisting  of  a  man,  woman,  and  boy,  with  their  Toby-dog ;  five 
Christy  minstrels  in  their  war  paint  ;  a  respectable  looking 
mechanic  with  his  wife  and  three  children  who  were  tramping 
from  one  place  to  another  in  search  of  work  ;  and  a  blind 
beggar  ;  and  all  these  were  seated  in  more  or  less  awkward 
and  constrained  attitudes  on  easy-chairs,  covered  with  satin, 
velvet,  or  brocade,  about  the  lawn,  with  little  tables  before 
them  on  which  was  spread  all  the  cooked  food,  apparently, 
that  the  castle  contained.  When  their  admiring  relatives  first 
caught  sight  of  the  twins,  Angelica — who  had  coiled  up  her 
hair,  and  wore  a  long  black  dress,  borrowed  from  her  Aunt 
Fulda's  wardrobe  ;  a  white  apron  with  a  bib,  and  a  white  cap 
like  a  nurse's,  the  property  of  one  of  the  lady's  maids — was 
pouring  tea  out  of  a  silver  urn,  and  Diavolo,  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
with  a  serviette  under  his  arm  like  a  waiter  in  a  restaurant, 
was  standing  beside  her  with  a  salver  in  his  hand,  waiting  to 
carry  it  to  the  mechanic's  lady. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  children  doing  ? "  Lord  Dawne 
exclaimed. 

"  Feeding  the  hungry,  sir,"  Diavolo  drawled  cheerfully. 

"  Well,"  groaned  the  poor  priest,  "you  needn't  have  taken 
all  my  best  china  for  that  purpose." 

"  We  did  that,  sir,"  Diavolo  replied  with  dignity,  "  in  order 
that  you,  all  unworthy  as  you  are,  might  have  the  pleasure  of 
participating  in  this  good  work.  But,  there  !  "  he  said  to  An 
gelica,  "  I  told  you  he  wouldn't  appreciate  it  ! " 

To  the  credit  of  the  Heavenly  Twins  and  their  guests,  it 
must  be  recorded  that  no  harm  happened  either  to  the  china 
or  the  plate. 

The  next  day  was  a  Saint's  day,  and  the  children  announced 
at  breakfast  that  they  intended  to  keep  it.  They  said  they 
were  going  to  compose  a  religion  for  themselves  out  of  all 
the  most  agreeable  practices  enjoined  by  other  religions,  and 
they  proposed  to  begin  by  making  that  day  a  holiday. 

Mr.  Ellis  would  have  remonstrated  at  the  waste  of  time,  and 
Father  Ricardo  at  the  absence  of  proper  intention,  but  the 
way  the  twins  had  put  the  proposition  happened  to  amuse  the 
duke,  and  therefore  they  gained  their  point.  But,  having 
gained  it,  they  did  not  know  very  well  what  to  do  with  then> 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  271 

selves.  Angelica  wouldn't  make  plans.  She  was  thinking  of 
the  long  dress  she  had  worn  the  day  before,  and  feeling  a 
vague  desire  to  have  her  own  lengthened  ;  and  she  wanted 
also  to  take  that  mysterious  packet  known  as  her  "  work  "  to 
her  Aunt  Fulda's  sitting  room,  where  the  ladies  usually  spent 
the  morning,  so  as  to  be  with  them,  but  she  knew  that  Diavolo 
would  scorn  her  if  she  did  ;  and  the  outcome  of  all  this  vague 
ness  of  intention  was  a  fit  of  excessive  irritability.  She  wanted 
sympathy,  but  without  being  aware  of  the  fact  herself,  and  the 
way  she  set  about  obtaining  it  was  by  being  excessively  dis 
agreeable  to  everybody.  There  was  a  rose  in  a  glass  beside 
her  plate,  and  she  took  it  out,  and  began  to  twiddle  it  between 
her  ringers  and  thumb  impatiently,  till  she  managed  to  prick 
herself  with  the  thorns,  and  then  she  complained  of  the  pain. 

"  Oh,  that  sort  of  thing  doesn't  hurt  much,"  Diavolo  de 
clared. 

"  It  does  hurt,"  she  maintained  aggressively  ;  "  and  pain  is 
pain,  whether  the  seat  of  it  be  your  head,  heart,  or  hind 
quarters." 

"Angelica ! "  Lady  Fulda  exclaimed  with  tragic  emphasis. 
"  Someone  must  really  talk  to  you  seriously  !  you  are  positively 
vulgar  !  " 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  Angelica  ejaculated  fervently.  "  I  knew 
I  was  going  to  be  something  !  " 

She  got  up  as  she  spoke,  and  walked  out  of  the  room  with 
her  head  in  the  air,  affecting  a  proud  consciousness  of  having 
had  greatness  suddenly  thrust  upon  her. 

Lady  Fulda  looked  helplessly,  first  at  Father  Ricardo,  then 
at  Mr.  Ellis. 

"  Can't  you  do  something  ?  "  she  said  to  the  latter. 

Mr.  Ellis  replied  by  an  almost  imperceptible  shrug  of  his 
shoulders.  "  We  know  better  than  to  interfere  when  she's  in 
one  of  her  bad-language  tantrums,"  Diavolo  explained. 

When  his  grandfather  left  the  table,  he  followed  him  unin 
vited  on  a  tour  of  inspection  around  the  castle  and  grounds, 
and,  finally,  retiring  with  him  to  the  library,  whither  the  old 
duke  usually  went  to  rest,  read,  or  meditate  sometime  during 
the  morning,  he  coiled  himself  up  in  an  armchair,  took  a  small 
book  out  of  his  pocket, -and  began  to  study  it  dilligently. 

His  grandfather  glanced  at  him  affectionately  and  with 
interest  from  time  to  time.  He  was  lonely  in  his  old  age,  and 
liked  to  have  the  boy  about.  He  had  nobody  left  to  him  now 
who  could  touch  his  heart  or  take  him  out  of  himself  as  Dta- 


272  THE   HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

volo  did,  for  nobody  else  attached  themselves  to  him  in  the 
same  way,  or  showed  such  an  unaffected  preference  for  having 
him  all  to  themselves. 

"  What  are  you  reading,  sir  ? "  he  asked  him  at  last. 

" '  Euripides,'  sir,"  Diavolo  answered,  glancing  over  the  top 
of  his  book  for  a  moment  as  he  spoke.  "  I'm  just  where  Hip- 
polytus  exclaims:  ' O  Jove !  wherefore  indeed  didst  thou 
place  in  the  light  of  the  sun  that  specious  evil  to  men — 
woman  ? '  ' 

"  Are  you  reading  '  Euripides  '  with  a  *  Key  '  ? "  his  grand 
father  asked  sternly. 

"  No,  I  am  reading  a  key  to  *  Euripides,'  "  Diavolo  answered. 

"  Don't  you  know  your  Greek,  sir  ?  "  his  grandfather  de 
manded. 

"  I'm  just  looking  to  see,  sir,"  Diavolo  rejoined,  returning 
to  his  book. 

When  he  had  finished  the  page,  he  looked  up  at  his  grand 
father,  who  was  sitting  with  his  hands  folded  upon  a  large 
volume  he  held  open  on  his  knee,  meditating,  apparently. 

"  Beastly  bad  tone  about  women  in  the  Classics,"  Diavolo 
remarked  ;  "  don't  you  think  so,  sir  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  you  don't  know  women  yet  !  "  the  old  duke 
responded. 

'*  Then  I've  not  made  the  most  of  my  opportunities," 
Diavolo  said  with  a  grin,  "  for  we  meet  with  a  fine  variety  in 
the  houses  about  here  !  But  what  I  object  to  in  these  classical 
chaps,"  he  resumed,  "  is  the  way  they  sneaked  and  snivelled 
about  women's  faults,  as  if  they  had  none  of  their  own  !  and 
then  their  mean  trick  of  going  back  upon  the  women,  and 
reproaching  them  with  their  misfortunes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  his  grandfather  asked. 

"Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you  would  call  old  age  a  misfortune 
to  a  pretty  woman  ?  "  Diavolo  answered.  "  And  just  look  at 
the  language  in  which  that  fellow  Horace  taunts  Lydia  and 
Lyce  when  they  grow  old,  and  after  the  sickening  way  he  fawned 
upon  them  when  they  were  young,  too  !  And  here  again,"  he 
said,  holding  up  his  book,  "  is  that  fellow  Hippolytus.  Just 
because  one  woman  has  shocked  him,  he  says  ' .  .  . 
Never  shall  I  be  satisfied  in  my  hatred  against  women.  .  . 
For  in  some  way  or  other  they  are  always  bad/  And  a 
little  further  back,  too  " — he  scuffed  the  leaves  over — "  he  says 
that  woman  is  a  great  evil  because  men  squander  away  the 
wealth  of  their  houses  upon  them.  If  the  men  were  such 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  273 

superior  beings,  why  don't  they  show  it  somehow  ?  Horace 
was  as  spiteful  himself  as  any  old  woman  ;  we  should  have 
called  him  a  cad  nowadays.  And  all  this  abuse  " — he  shook 
his  'Euripides  ' — "  is  beastly  bad  form  whichever  way  you  look 
at  it."  He  ruffled  his  thick  tow-hair  as  he  spoke,  and  yawned 
in  conclusion. 

"  Then  you  are  coming  out  as  a  champion  of  women  ?  " 
said  the  duke. 

"  Oh,  by  Jove,  no  !  "  Diavolo  exclaimed,  straightening  him 
self.  "  I  haven't  the  conceit  to  suppose  they  would  accept 
such  a  champion,  and  besides,  I  think  it's  the  other  way  on  now  ; 
we  shall  want  champions  soon.  You  see,  in  the  old  days, 
women  were  so  ignorant  and  subdued,  they  couldn't  retaliate 
or  fight  for  themselves  in  any  way  ;  they  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing.  But,  now,  if  you  hit  a  woman,  she'll  give  you  one 
back  promptly,"  he  asseverated,  rubbing  a  bump  on  his  head 
suspiciously.  "  She'll  put  you  in  Pumh,  or  revile  you  in  the 
Dailies  ;  Magazine  you  ;  write  you  down  an  ass  in  a  novel  ; 
blackguard  you  in  choice  language  from  a  public  platform  ;  or 
paint  a  picture  of  you  which  will  make  you  wish  you  had  never 
been  born.  Ridicule  !  "  he  ejaculated,  lowering  his  voice. 
"  They  ridicule  you.  That's  the  worst  of  it.  Now,  there's 
Ideala,  she  can  make  a  fellow  ridiculous  without  a  word. 
When  old  Lord  Groome  came  back  from  Malta  the  other  day, 
he  called,  and  began  to  jeer  at  Mrs.  Churston's  feet  for  being 
big  and  ugly.  Ideala  let  him  finish  ;  and  then  she  just  looked 
down  at  his  own  feet,  and  you  could  see  in  a  minute  that  he 
wished  himself  an  Eastern  potentate  with  petticoats  to  hide 
them  under  ;  for  they  were  ugly  enough  to  be  indecent." 

The  duke  stretched  out  one  of  his  own  miniature  models  of 
feet  upon  this,  and  glanced  at  it  complacently. 

"  Where  do  you  get  all  these  ideas  ?  "  he  asked.  "  At  your 
age  I  never  had  any  ;  and  if  I  had,  I  should  have  been  ashamed 
to  own  it.  You'll  be  a  prig,  sir,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  /  don't  mind,"  Diavolo  rejoined.  "  I've  heard  you  say 
that  ladies  dearly  love  a  prig,  and  therefore  I  rather  think  of 
cultivating  that  tone." 

"You  should  have  been  sent  to  a  public  school,"  his  grand 
father  said.  "  It  would  have  made  a  man  of  you." 

"  Oh,  time  will  do  that  just  as  well,"  Diavolo  answered 
encouragingly. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Lady  Fulda  entered. 

"  Papa,  may  I  speak  to  you  now  ? "  she  asked,  and  Diavolo 


274  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

got  up  politely  and  lounged  off  to  look  for  Angelica.  He  did 
not  succeed  in  finding  her,  however,  because  she  had  driven 
into  Morningquestto  do  some  shopping  with  her  Aunt  Claudia 
and  Ideala.  She  hated  shopping  as  a  rule,  and  could  seldom 
be  persuaded  to  do  any  ;  but  that  morning,  after  breakfast, 
she  had  gone  to  Lady  Fulda's  room,  where  the  three  ladies 
were  sitting,  and  after  fidgeting  them  to  death  by  wandering 
up  and  down,  doing  nothing,  with  a  scowl  on  her  face,  and 
an  ugly  look  of  discontent  in  her  fine  dark  eyes,  she  had  burst 
out  suddenly:  "Aunt  Fulda  !  I  want  some  long  dresses." 
Lady  Fulda  looked  up  at  her  in  blank  amazement  ;  but  Lady 
Claudia,  who  was  all  energy,  rolled  up  her  work  on  the  instant, 
rang  the  bell,  ordered  the  carriage,  and  answered  :  "  Come, 
then,  and  get  what  you  like." 

And  ten  minutes  afterward  they  had  started. 

Several  unsuccessful  attempts  had  been  made  to  persuade 
Angelica  to  wear  long  dresses,  and  Lady  Claudia  felt  that 
now,  when  she  proposed  it  herself,  it  would  never  do  to  check 
the  impulse  ;  and  accordingly,  in  less  than  a  week  from  that 
day,  Angelica,  the  torn-boy,  was  to  all  appearance  no  more, 
and  Miss  Hamilton-Wells  astonished  the  neighbourhood. 

She  came  down  to  the  drawing  room  quite  shyly  in  her  first 
long  dinner  dress,  with  her  dark  hair  coiled  neatly  high  on 
her  head.  She  had  met  Mr.  Kilroy  on  the  stairs,  and  he  had 
looked  at  her  in  a  strange,  startled  way,  but  he  said  nothing  ; 
and  neither  did  anybody  else  when  she  entered  the  room. 
Her  grandfather,  however,  opened  his  eyes  wide  when  he  saw 
her,  and  smiled  as  if  he  were  gratified.  Lord  Dawne  gave 
her  a  second  glance,  and  seemed  a  little  sad  ;  and  Ideala  went 
up  to  her  and  kissed  her,  and  then  looked  into  her  face  for  a 
moment  very  gravely,  making  her  feel  as  if  she  were  on  the 
eve  of  something  momentous.  But  Diavolo  would  not  look 
at  her  a  second  time.  One  glimpse  had  been  enough  for  him, 
and  during  the  whole  of  dinner  he  never  raised  his  eyes. 

His  uncle  Dawne  saw  what  was  wrong  with  the  boy,  and 
glanced  at  him  from  time  to  time  sympathetically.  He  meant 
to  talk  to  him  when  the  ladies  had  left  the  table,  but  Diavolo 
escaped  unobserved  before  he  could  carry  out  his  intention. 

Mr.  Ellis,  however,  had  seen  him  go,  and  followed  him. 
He  found  him  in  the  schoolroom,  crying  as  if  his  heart  would 
break,  his  slender  frame  all  shaken  with  great  convulsive  sobs, 
and  the  old  books  and  playthings  which  had  suddenly  assumed 
for  him  the  bitterly  pathetic  interest  that  attaches  to  once 


THE   HEAVENLY    TWINS.  275 

loved  things  when  they  are  carelessly  cast  aside  and  forgotten, 
scattered  about  him.  Mr.  Ellis  sat  down  beside,  him,  and 
touched  his  hand,  and  tried  to  comfort  him,  but  the  tutor  was 
sad  at  heart  himself. 

Before  very  long,  however,  Angelica  burst  in  upon  them, 
with  her  hair  down,  and  in  the  shortest  and  oldest  dress  she 
possessed.  Her  passionate  love  for  her  brother  had  always 
been  the  great  hopeful  and  redeeming  point  of  her  character, 
and  if  she  did  show  it  principally  by  banging  his  head,  she 
never  meant  to  hurt  him.  Almost  any  other  sister  would  have 
owed  him  a  grudge  for  not  admiring  her  in  her  first  fine  gown, 
and  so  spoiling  her  pleasure  ;  but  Angelica  saw  that  he  was 
thinking  that  the  old  days  were  over,  and  there  had  come  a 
change  now  which  would  divide  them,  and  she  thought  only 
of  the  pain  he  was  suffering  on  that  account.  So,  when  she 
found  that  he  was  not  going  to  join  the  ladies  in  the  drawing 
room,  she  rushed  upstairs  to  her  own  room,  which  her  maid 
was  arranging  for  the  night,  and  relieved  her  feelings  by  tear 
ing  off  her  dinner  dress,  rolling  it  in  a  whisp,  and  throwing  it- 
at  the  woman.  Her  petticoats  followed  it,  and  then  she  kicked 
off  her  white  satin  shoes,  one  of  which  lit  on  the  mantelpiece, 
the  other  on  the  dressing  table  ;  and,  tearing  out  her  hair 
pins,  flung  them  about  the  floor  in  all  directions. 

"  My  old  brown  gown,  Elizabeth,"  she  demanded,  stamping. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Miss " 

But  Angelica  had  snatched  the  gown  from  the  wardrobe, 
put  it  on,  and  was  halfway  downstairs,  buttoning  it  as  she 
went,  before  the  maid  could  finish  the  sentence. 

When  she  entered  the  schoolroom,  she  threw  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  Diavolo,  and  hugged  him  tight,  as  if  she  been 
going  to  lose  him  altogether,  or  he  had  just  escaped  from  a 
great  danger. 

"  I  won't  wear  long  dresses  if  you  don't  like  them,"  she 
protested. 

"Well,  you  can't  go  about  like  that,"  he  grumbled,  recover 
ing  himself  the  moment  he  felt  her  close  to  him  again,  and 
struck  by  a  sense  of  impropriety  in  her  short  skirt  after  the 
grown-up  appearance  she  had  presented  in  the  long  one. 
"  You  look  like  a  beggar." 

"  Well,  if  I  do  wear  a  long  one,"  she  declared,  "  it  shall  only 
be  a  disguise.  I  promise  you  I'll  be  just  as  bad  as  ever  in  it," 
and  she  drew  a  handkerchief  out  of  her  pocket,  which  had  been 
left  there  for  months  and  was  frowsy,  and  wiped  her  own  eyes 


2?  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

and  Diavolo's  abruptly.  "Your  feelings  are  quite  boggy, 
Diavolo,"  she  said,  giving  a  dry  sob  herself  as  she  spoke. 
"  You  can't  touch  them  at  all  without  coming  to  water.  You 
cry  when  you  laugh." 

Mr.  Ellis  had  stolen  softly  out  of  the  room  as  soon  as  he 
could  do  so  unobserved,  and  now  the  twins  were  sitting  to 
gether  in  their  favourite  position  on  the  same  chair,  with  their 
arms  around  each  other,  and  Angelica's  dark  head  slanted  so 
as  to  lean  against  Diavolo's  fair  one. 

He  had  rewarded  her  last  remark  with  a  melancholy  grin  ; 
but  the  clouds  had  broken,  and  it  now  only  required  time  for 
them  to  roll  away. 

"  You'll  get  a  moustache  in  time,"  Angelica  proceeded,  in 
her  most  matter-of-fact  tone.  "  I  can  see  signs  of  it  now  in 
some  lights,  only  it's  so  fair  it  doesn't  show  much." 

"  I'll  shave  it  to  make  it  darker,"  he  suggested. 

"No,  you  mustn't  do  that,"  she  answered,  "because  that'll 
make  it  coarse,  and  I  want  you  to  have  one  like  Uncle 
Dawne's.  But  when  it  comes  it  will  make  you  look  as  much 
grown  up  as  my  long  dresses  do  me,  and  then  we'll  study  some 
art  and  practise  it  together,  and  not  be  separated  all  our 
lives." 

u  We  will,"  said  Diavolo. 

"  But  I  think  we  ought  to  begin  at  once,"  Angelica  added 
thoughtfully.  "  Just  give  me  time  to  consider.  And  come  out 
into  the  grounds  for  a  frolic.  I  feel  smothered  in  here  ;  and 
there's  a  moon  !  " 

CHAPTER  V. 

"TJDITH  BEALE  had  now  been  married  for  more  than  a  year 
\_j  to  Sir  Mosley  Menteith,  and  the  whole  of  their  life  together 
had  been  to  her  a  painful  period  of  gradual  disillusion — and 
all  the  more  painful  because  she  was  totally  unprepared  even 
for  the  possibility  of  any  troubles  of  the  kind  which  had  beset 
her.  Parental  opinion  and  prejudice,  ignorance,  education, 
and  custom  had  combined  to  deceive  her  with  regard  to  the 
transient  nature  of  her  own  feeling  for  her  lover  ;  and  it  was 
also  inevitable  that  she  should  lend  herself  enthusiastically  to 
the  deception  ;  for  who  would  not  believe,  if  they  could,  that 
a  state  so  ecstatic  is  enduring  ?  Even  people  who  do  know 
better  are  apt  to  persuade  themselves  that  an  exception  will 
be  made  in  their  favour,  and  this  being  so,  it  naturally  follows 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.^  277 

that  a  girl  like  Edith,  all  faith  and  fondness,  is  foredoomed  by 
every  circumstance  of  her  life  and  virtue  of  her  nature,  to 
make  the  fatal  mistake.  But,  as  Evadne  told  her,  passion, 
stands  midway  between  love  and  hate,  and  is  an  introduction 
to  either  ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that,  if  Menteith  had  been 
the  kind  of  repentant  erring  sinner  she  imagined  him,  her  first 
wild  desire  would  have  cooled  down  into  the  lasting  joy 
of  tranquil  love.  Menteith,  however,  was  not  at  all  that  kind 
of  man,  and,  consequently,  from  the  first  the  marriage  had 
been  a  miserable  example  of  the  result  of  uniting  the  spiritual 
or  better  part  of  human  nature  with  the  essentially  animal  or 
most  degraded  side  of  it.  In  that  position  there  was  just 
one  hope  of  happiness  left  for  Edith,  and  that  was  in  her  chil 
dren.  If  such  a  woman  so  situated  can  be  happy  anywhere 
it  will  be  in  her  nursery.  But  Edith's  child,  which  arrived 
pretty  promptly,  only  proved  to  be  another  whip  to  scourge 
her.  Although  of  an  unmistakable  type,  he  was  apparently 
healthy  when  he  was  born,  but  had  rapidly  degenerated,  and 
Edith  herself  was  a  wreck. 

They  had  been  out  to  Malta  for  a  short  time,  but  had  come 
home,  Menteith  being  invalided,  and  were  now  at  a  bracing 
sea-side  place,  trying  what  the  air  would  do  for  them  all. 

It  was  Edith's  habit  to  send  the  child  out  with  his  nurse 
directly  after  breakfast,  and  having  done  so  as  usual  one 
morning,  she  remained  alone  with  her  husband  in  the  break 
fast  room,  which  looked  out  upon  the  sands.  She  had  her 
hands  idly  folded  on  her  lap,  and  was  watching  Menteith  as 
she  might  have  watched  a  stranger  about  whom  she  was 
curious.  He  sat  at  some  distance  from  her  reading  a  paper, 
and  there  was  no  perceptible  change  in  him  ;  but  she  had 
changed  very  much  for  the  worse.  Why  was  she  npt  recover- 
ing  her  strength  ?  Why  had  it  pleased  Heaven  to  afflict  her  ? 
That  was  what  she  was  thinking,  but  at  the  same  time  she 
blamed  herself  for  repining,  and,  in  order  to  banish  the 
thought,  she  rose,  and,  going  over  to  her  husband,  laid  her 
hand  gently  on  his  shoulder,  courting  a  caress.  He  had  been 
lavish  enough  of  caresses  at  first,  but  all  that  was  over  now, 
and  he  finished  the  paragraph  he  was  reading  before  he 
noticed  Edith  at  all.  Then  he  glanced  at  her,  but  his  eyes 
were  cold  and  critical. 

"  You  certainly  are  not  looking  well,"  he  observed,  evi 
dently  meaning  not  attractive,  as  if  he  were  injured  by  the 
fact.  He  got  up  when  he  had  spoken,  so  that  in  the  act  of 


278  THR  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

rising  he  dislodged  her  hand  from  his  shoulder.  Then  he 
yawned  and  lounged  over  to  the  window,  which  was  wide 
open,  the  weather  being  warm  ;  and  stood  there  with  his  legs 
apart,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  out. 

One  little  loving  caress  or  kindly  word  would  have  changed 
the  whole  direction  of  Edith's  thoughts  ;  but,  wanting  that, 
she  stood  where  he  had  left  her  for  some  moments,  lost  in 
pained  reflection  ;  and  then  she  followed  him  listlessly,  seated 
herself  in  a  low  easy-chair,  and  looked  out  also. 

There  were  crowds  of  people  on  the  sands,  and  her  dull 
eyes  wandered  from  group  to  group,  then  up  to  the  sky,  and 
down  again  to  the  sea  and  shore.  The  sun  shone  radiantly  ; 
sparkles  of  light  from  the  rippling  wavelets  responded  to  his 
ardent  caress.  The  sea-sweet  air  fanned  her  face.  But 
neither  light,  nor  air,  nor  sound  availed  to  move  her  pleasurably. 

"  Is  this  to  be  my  life  ?  "  she  thought. 

The  tide  was  coming  in  over  the  sands.  Some  children  with 
their  shoes  and  stockings  off  were  playing  close  to  the  water's 
edge.  They  had  made  a  castle,  and  were  standing  on  the  top 
of  it,  all  crowded  together,  waiting  for  a  big  wave  to  come  and 
surround  them  ;  and  when  at  last  it  came,  it  carried  half  their 
fortress  away  with  it,  and  they  all  hopped  off  into  the  water, 
and  splashed  up  through  it  helter-skelter,  with  shouts  of 
laughter,  to  the  dry  land. 

"  I  should  have  enjoyed  that  once,"  thought  Edith. 

A  party  of  grown-up  people  cantered  past  upon  donkeys, 
driven  by  boys  with  big  sticks.  The  women  were  clinging  to 
the  pommels  of  their  saddles,  and  shrieking  as  they  bumped 
along,  while  the  men  shouted,  and  beat  and  kicked  the  donkeys 
with  all  their  might. 

"  Horrid,  common,  cruel  people  !  "  thought  Edith.  "  How 
dreadful  it  would  be  to  have  to  know  them  !  " 

A  girl  came  riding  past  alone  on  a  hired  horse.  She  wore 
a  rusty  black  skirt  over  her  petticoats.  It  was  gathered  in  by 
a  drawing  string  at  the  waist,  and  made  her  look  ludicrously 
bunchy.  Her  stirrup  was  too  short  ;  and  she  clung  desper 
ately  with  both  hands  to  whip  and  reins  and  saddle,  only  ven 
turing  to  guide  her  horse  now  and  then  in  a  timid,  half  apolo 
getic  sort  of  way,  as  if  she  were  afraid  he  would  resent  it. 
She  must  have  felt  far  from  comfortable,  but  probably  the 
dream  of  her  life  had  been  to  ride,  and  now  that  she  was 
riding  she  admired  herself  extremely. 

Edith  involuntarily  drew  a  mental  picture  of  the  contrast  she 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  279 

herself  presented  on  horseback.  "  But  that  girl  is  well  and 
happy,"  she  objected,  to  her  own  disadvantage. 

She  became  aware  at  this  moment  of  another  girl  who  was 
passing  on  foot.  She  was  one  of  those  good-looking  girls  of 
the  middle  class  who  throng  to  fashionable  watering-places  in 
the  season — young  women  with  senses  rampant,  and  minds 
undisciplined,  impelled  by  natural  instinct  to  find  a  mate,  and 
practising  every  little  art  of  dress  and  manner  which  they 
imagine  will  help  them  to  that  end  by  making  them  attractive. 
Their  object  is  always  evident  in  their  eyes,  which  rove  from 
man  to  man  pathetically,  pleadingly,  anxiously,  mischievously, 
according  to  their  temperaments,  but  always  with  the  same 
inquiry  :  "  Will  it  be  you  ?  " 

This  girl  had  made  herself  by  tight-lacing  into  a  notable 
specimen  of  the  peg-top  figure,  bulgy  at  the  bust  and  shoul 
ders,  and  tapering  off  at  the  waist.  She  had  also  squeezed 
her  feet  into  boots  that  were  much  too  small  for  them,  and 
fluffed  her  hair  out  till  her  head  seemed  preposterously  large 
— by  which  means  she  had  achieved  the  appearance  known  to 
her  set  as  "stylish." 

When  Edith  first  saw  her  she  was  walking  along  very 
quickly  with  a  dissatisfied  look  on  her  face  ;  but  as  she 
approached  the  window  she  glanced  up,  and,  seeing  Menteith, 
her  countenance  cleared  ;  and  she  slackened  her  speed,  seem 
ing  suddenly  to  become  uncertain  of  the  direction  she  wished 
to  take.  First,  she  half  stopped,  and  appeared  to  be  thinking  ; 
then  she  hastily  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket,  and  looked  back 
the  way  she  had  come,  as  if  she  had  lost  something  ;  then 
shrugged  her  shoulders  to  signify  that  it  didn't  much  matter, 
and  with  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes  walked  slowly  into  the 
sea  ;  this  was  in  order  that  she  might  spring  nimbly  out 
again  with  a  fine  pretence  of  confusion  at  her  affected  fit  of 
absent-mindedness. 

Menteith  watched  these  manoeuvres  attentively,  patiently 
awaiting  the  inevitable  moment  when  she  would  look  at  him 
again.  So  far,  she  had  pretended  to  ignore  him,  but  he  under 
stood  her  tactics,  and  as  he  observed  them,  he  twisted  first 
one  end  and  then  the  other  of  his  little  light  moustache,  with 
a  self-complacency  not  to  be  concealed.  He  had  been  feeling 
bored  all  the  morning,  but  now  his  interest  in  life  revived. 
He  had  only  the  one  interest  in  life,  and  when  the  girl  on  the 
beach  had  done  all  she  could  to  excite  it,  she  glanced  at  him 
again,  and  saw  by  the  look  with  which  he  responded  that  she 


280  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

had  succeeded.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the  sand,  placing  her 
self  so  that  she  could  meet  his  eyes  every  time  she  looked  up, 
and  taking  a  letter  out  of  her  pocket  she  began  to  read  it, 
varying  the  expression  of  her  countenance  the  while,  to  show 
that  she  derived  great  pleasure  from  the  perusal.  This  was 
to  pique  Menteith  into  supposing  that  he  had  a  rival. 

The  girl  had  not  troubled  herself  about  Edith's  presence, 
but  the  latter  had  also  been  watching  her  wiles — dully  enough, 
however,  until  all  at  once  a  thought  occurred  to  her,  a  hateful 
thought. 

It  was  the  emotional  rather  than  the  intellectual  side  of  her 
nature  which  had  been  developed  by  early  associations.  She 
had  been  accustomed  to  feel  more  than  to  think,  and  now, 
when  all  food  for  elevating  emotions  had  been  withdrawn  from 
her  daily  life,  others,  mostly  of  a  distressing  kind,  took  posses 
sion  of  her  mind.  She  had  gone  through  all  the  phases  of 
acute  misery  to  which  a  girl  so  trained-and  with  such  a  hus 
band  is  liable.  She  had  been  weakened  into  dependence  by 
excess  of  sympathy,  and  now  was  being  demoralised  for  want 
of  any.  Menteith  had  hung  upon  her  words  at  first,  had  been 
responsive  to  her  every  glance  ;  but  latterly  he  had  become 
indifferent  to  both  ;  and  she  knew  it,  without,  however,  com 
prehending  the  why  and  wherefore  of  the  change,  or  of  the 
growing  sense  of  something  wanting  which  was  fast  becoming 
her  own  normal  condition.  She  was  still  fighting  hard  to  pre 
serve  the  spiritual  fervour  which  had  been  the  predominant 
characteristic  of  her  girlhood  ;  but,  at  this  period  of  their  inter 
course,  she  knew  better  than  to  attempt  to  re-arouse  in  him 
that  semblance  of  spirituality  which  had  deluded  her  in  their 
early  passion-period.  But  she  had  from  the  first  cultivated  a 
passive  attitude  toward  him,  and  that  even  when  the  natural 
instinct  of  her  womanhood  impelled  her  to  war  with  him.  In 
any  case,  however,  instinct  is  not  safeguard  enough  for  creat 
ures  living  under  purely  artificial  conditions  ;  they  must  have 
knowledge  ;  and  Edith  had  been  robbed  of  all  means  of  self- 
defence  by  the  teaching  which  insisted  that  her  only  duty  as  a 
wife  consisted  in  silent  submission  to  her  husband's  will. 
Her  intellectual  life,  such  as  it  was,  had  stopped  short  from 
the  time  of  her  intimate  association  with  Menteith  ;  and  her 
spiritual  nature  had  been  starved  in  close  contact  with  him  ; 
only  her  senses  had  been  nourished,  and  these  were  now  being 
rendered  morbidly  active  by  disease.  The  shadow  of  an 
awful  form  of  insanity  already  darkened  her  days.  The 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  281 

mental  torture  was  extreme  ;  but  she  fought  for  her  reason 
with  the  fearful  malady  valiantly  ;  and  all  the  time  presented 
outwardly  only  the  same  dull  apathy,  giving  no  sign  and 
speaking  no  word  which  could  betray  the  fury  of  the  rage 
within. 

This  last  thought  took  her  unawares  as  usual,  and  followed 
an  accustomed  course.  She  had  entertained  it  for  a  moment, 
turning  it  over  in  her  mind  with  interest  before  she  realized 
its  nature.  When  she  did  so,  however,  her  soul  sickened. 
"  What  am  I  coming  to  ?  "  she  mentally  ejaculated,  recovering 
herself  with  an  effort ;  which  resulted  also  in  a  sudden  reso 
lution. 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  said.     Her  voice  was  very  husky. 

Menteith,  startled  from  the  absorbing  occupation  of  ogling 
the  girl  on  the  beach,  looked  at  her  sharply.  Had  she  noticed 
what  he  was  up  to,  and  was  she  jealous  by  any  chance,  as 
these  confounded  unreasonable  women  are  apt  to  be  ?  No, 
he  concluded,  after  carefully  scrutinizing  her  face  and  atti 
tude  ;  there  was  not  a  trace  of  that  kind  of  thing,  and  she 
evidently  only  meant  what  she  had  said.  "  And,  by  Jove  !  " 
he  thought,  "  it's  an  excellent  idea,  for  she's  looking  anything 
but  nice  at  present.  Marriage  is  certainly  a  lottery  !  A 
fellow  chooses  a  girl  for  her  health  and  beauty,  and  gives  her 
everything  she  can  want  in  the  world,  and  in  less  than  a  year 
she's  a  wreck  ?"  The  injury  done  to  himself,  implied  in  this 
last  reflection,  caused  a  certain  amount  of  irritation,  which 
betrayed  itself  in  the  politely  "  nagging  "  tone  of  his  reply  : 

"  What  precisely  do  you  mean  by  '  home  '  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  mean  Morningquest,"  she  answered. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  ejaculated.     "  That  was  what  I  inferred." 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  said  anything  to  annoy  you  ?"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !"  he  assured  her.  "  I  know  your  sex  too 
well  to  be  annoyed  by  any  of  its  caprices.  But  still,"  he 
added,  "  a  wife  does  not  usually  make  her  'home'  with  her 
parents." 

"  But  we  have  no  settled  home,"  she  remonstrated. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  for  a  reproach,  because  my  want  of 
means  at  present  obliges  me  to  keep  my  houses  shut  up  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered  with  a  gleam  of  spirit,  "  and  you  know 
I  do  not." 

There  was  a  pause  after  this.     It  pleased  him  to  make  her 


282  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

ask  for  his  permission  to  go  to  her  mother,  in  so  many  words. 
He  perceived  that  she  found  it  difficult  to  do  so,  and  there 
was  satisfaction  in  the  respect  and  fear  which  he  thought  were 
betokened  by  her  hesitation.  The  sense  of  power  and  posses 
sion  flattered  his  self-esteem  and  enlivened  him. 

"  Do  you  object  ?  "  she  ventured  at  last. 

"  To  what,  dear  ? "  he  asked,  without  interrupting  an 
exchange  of  amorous  glances  which  was  just  then  going  on 
between  himself  and  the  girl  on  the  beach. 

"  To  my  going  home  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  i  "  he  exclaimed,  smiling.  "  Only  to  that  way  of 
putting  it.  By  the  way,"  he  added  pleasantly,  taking  up  a 
pair  of  opera  glasses  that  were  lying  on  a  table  beside  him, 
and  adjusting  the  sight,  "  shall  I  accompany  you  ?  " 

Edith  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  he  would,  as  they  had 
never  yet  been  separated  since  their  marriage  ;  and  the  ques 
tion,  striking  as  it  did  another  note  of  change,  surprised  and 
hurt  her.  But  as  it  was  evident  that  he  would  not  have 
asked  it  had  he  wished  to  go,  she  answered  quietly  :  '  Oh, 
no  !  Why  should  you  trouble  yourself  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  no  trouble,  I  assure  you,"  he  answered, 
confirming  her  first  impression  that  he  did  not  wish  to  go. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  repeated.  "  I  could  not  think  of  taking 
you  away  from  here — if  the  air  is  doing  you  good." 

*'  Ah,  well,"  he  answered,  catching  at  the  excuse,  "  I  sup 
pose  I  ought  to  forego  the  pleasure,  for  I  am  just  beginning 
at  last  to  feel  some  benefit  from  the  change,  and  I  should 
probably  lose  the  little  good  it  has  done  me  if  I  go  away 
now.  Morningquest  is  relaxing.  However,  I  shall  join  you 
as  soon  as  I  can,  you  know !  "  This  was  said  with  a 
plausible  affectation  of  being  impelled  by  a  sense  of  duty  to 
act  contrary  to  his  inclination,  which  did  not,  however,  im 
pose  upon  Edith  ;  and  the  thought  that  the  wish  to  be  with 
her  now  was  not  imperative  although  she  was  ill  became 
another  haunting  torment  during  the  short  remaining  time 
they  were  together  ;  but,  happily  for  herself,  she  never  per 
ceived  that  he  did  not  care  to  accompany  her  principally 
because  she  was  ill. 

She  left  that  afternoon  with  her  servants  and  child,  and  he 
saw  to  the  preparations  for  their  departure  with  cheerful 
alacrity.  She  was  depressed,  and  he  told  her  she  must  keep 
up  her  spirits  for — everybody's — sake  !  and  set  her  a  good 
example  by  keeping  his  own  up  manfully.  He  saw  her  off 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  283 

at  the  station,  and  stood  smiling  and  bowing,  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  until  she  was  out  of  sight  ;  and  then  he  turned  on 
his  heel  and  went  with  a  jaunty  air  to  look  for  the  girl  on  the 
beach. 

Up  to  the  last  moment,  Edith  would  have  been  thankful  for 
any  excuse  to  change  her  mind  and  stay  ;  but  when  she  found 
herself  alone,  and  the  journey  had  fairly  begun,  she  experi 
enced  a  sudden  sense  of  relief. 

She  had  not  realized  the  fact  :  but  latterly  her  husband's 
presence  had  oppressed  her. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  Beales  had  not  seen  their  daughter  and  grandson  for 
some  months,  and  the  appearance  of  both  was  a  shock  to 
them.  They  said  not  a  word  to  each  other  at  first,  but  neither 
of  them  could  help  looking  at  Edith  furtively  from  time  to 
time  on  the  evening  of  her  arrival.  When  the  bishop  came 
up  to  the  drawing  room  after  dinner  and  had  settled  himself 
in  his  accustomed  easy-chair,  Edith  had  crept  to  his  side,  and, 
slipping  her  hand  through  his  arm,  sat  leaning  her  head 
against  his  shoulder,  and  staring  straight  before  her,  neither 
speaking  nor  listening  except  when  directly  addressed.  Her 
father,  between  whom  and  herself  there  had  always  been  a 
great  deal  of  sympathy,  was  inexpressively  touched  by  this 
silent  appeal  to  his  love  ;  and  letting  the  paper  lie  on  his  lap, 
he  sat  silent  also,  and  serious,  feeling,  without  in  any  way 
knowing,  that  all  was  not  well. 

Mrs.  Beale  was  also  depressed,  although  she  assured  herself 
again  and  again  that  such  deep  devotion  between  father  and 
daughter  was  an  elevating  and  beautiful  sight,  which  it  was  a 
privilege  to  witness  ;  and  tried  to  persuade  herself  that 
they  were  all  extremely  happy  in  the  tranquil  joy  of  this 
peaceful  evening  spent  alone  together,  with  the  world  shut 
out. 

"That  child  is  not  right,"  the  Bishop  said,  when  Edith  had 
gone  to  bed.  "  Have  you  noticed  her  face  ?  I  don't  like  the 
look  of  it  at  all  ;  not  at  all." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  unkind,  dear?  "  Mrs.  Beale  replied.  "  I 
always  recovered  in  time." 

"You  never  were  as  ill  as  the  poor  child  evidently  is,"  he 
answered  ;  and  retired  to  his  library,  much  disturbed. 


1^4  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

But  Mrs.  Beale  determined  not  to  worry  herself,  and  man 
aged  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  her  mind  until  next  day, 
when  she  was  sitting  alone  with  her  daughter  in  the  morning 
room  up  stairs.  They  were  both  working,  but  the  conversa 
tion  flagged,  and  Mrs.  Beale,  from  wondering  why  Edith  was 
so  uncommunicative,  found  herself  involuntarily  repeating 
the  bishop's  observation  :  *'  That  child  is  not  right,"  and  the 
question  :  "  What  is  the  matter  with  your  face,  dearest  ? " 
slipped  from  her  unawares. 

"  I  don't  know,  mother,"  Edith  answered  shortly. 

She  had  never  before  in  her  life  spoken  to  her  mother  in 
that  tone,  and  the  latter  was  surprised  and  hurt  for  a  moment  ; 
but  then  persuaded  herself  that  some  irritability  was  only 
natural  if  the  child  were  out  of  health,  and  at  once  made  pro 
per  allowances. 

Edith  got  up  when  she  had  spoken,  and  left  the  room. 

She  was  occupying  one  of  the  state  departments  of  the 
palace  then,  but  on  the  way  to  it  she  had  to  pass  the  room 
which  had  been  hers  as  a  girl.  The  door  was  open,  and  she 
went  in.  Nothing  was  changed  there  ;  but  the  moment  she 
entered  she  felt  that  there  was  a  direful  difference  in  herself. 
The  sad,  benignant  Christ,  with  tender,  sympathetic  eyes, 
looked  down  upon  her  from  the  picture  on  the  wall ;  but  she 
returned  the  glance  indifferently  at  first,  and  then,  remember 
ing  the  rapture  with  which  she  had  been  wont  to  kneel  at  his 
feet,  she  looked  again.  The  recollection  of  the  once  dear 
delight  tantalized  her  now,  however,  because  it  did  not  renew 
it ;  and,  turning  from  the  picture  impatiently,  she  went  to 
the  window,  and  there  sank  on  to  the  seat  from  whence  she 
had  looked  out  at  the  moonlight  and  the  shadows  on  the 
night  of  the  day  on  which  it  had  been  arranged  that  she 
should  winter  with  her  mother  at  Malta.  And  here  again 
she  endeavoured  to  recall  the  glow  of  sensation  which  had 
thrilled  her  then  ;  but  only  the  lifeless  ashes  of  that  fire 
remained,  and  they  were  burnt  out  past  all  hope  of  rekindling 
them.  Even  the  remembrance  of  what  her  feelings  had  been 
eluded  her,  and  she  could  think  of  nothing  but  after  experi 
ences — experiences  of  her  married  life,  and  those  precisely 
which  it  was  not  wise  to  recall.  They  were  not  exactly 
thoughts,  however,  that  occupied  her,  but  emotions,  to  which, 
looking  out  on  the  sunlit  garden  with  rounded  eyes  and  pupils 
dilated  to'  the  uttermost,  she  had  unconsciously  lent  herself 
for  some  time,  as  on  other  occasions,  before  she  realized  what 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  285 

she  was  doing.  Suddenly,  however,  she  came  to  her  senses, 
and  fled  in  affright  to  the  morning  room,  where  she  threw  her 
self  down  on  her  knees  beside  her  mother  impetuously,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  lap. 

"  Take  care,  dear  child  !  "  Mrs.  Beale  exclaimed.  "  You 
will  hurt  yourself." 

"  Mother  !  Mother  !  "  Edith  cried.  "  I  have  such  terrible, 
terrible  thoughts  !  I  cannot  control  them.  I  cannot  keep 
them  away.  The  torment  of  my  mind  is  awful.  1  could  kill 
myself." 

Mrs.  Beale  turned  pale.     "  Pray,  dearest  !  "  she  ejaculated. 

"  I  do,  I  do,  mother,"  Edith  wailed  ;  "  but  they  mingle 
with  my  prayers.  God  is  a  demon,  isn't  he  ?" 

Mrs.  Beale  threw  her  arms  round  her  daughter,  and  almost 
shook  her  in  her  consternation.  "  Edith,  darling,  do  you  know 
what  you  are  saying?  "  she  demanded. 

Edith  looked  into  her  face  in  a  bewildered  way.  "  No, 
mother,  what  was  it  ?  "  she  answered. 

Then  all  outward  sign  of  Mrs.  Beale's  agitation  subsided. 
Some  shocks  stun,  and  some  strengthen  and  steady  us.  The 
piteous  appeal  in  Edith's  eyes,  the  puzzle  and  the  pain  of  her 
face  as  she  made  an  effort  to  recall  her  words  and  understand 
them,  had  the  latter  effect  upon  her  mother. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  very  weak,  dear  child,"  the  poor  lady 
bravely  responded.  "  Weakness  makes  people  unhealthy- 
minded.  You  must  see  the  doctor,  and  have  a  tonic,  g 

"  The  doctor  again  !  "  Edith  groaned.  "  It  has  been  noth 
ing  but  the  doctor  and  '  tonics '  ever  since  I  have  been 
married." 

"  What  does  he  say  is  the  matter  exactly  ? "  Mrs.  Beale 
asked. 

"  All  his  endeavour  seems  to  be  not  to  say  what  is  the  matter 
exactly,"  Edith  replied. 

Mrs.  Beale  reflected,  caressing  her  daughter  the  while,  and 
under  the  soothing  influence  of  her  loving  touch,  Edith's  coun 
tenance  began  to  relax. 

"  When  is  Mosley  coming  ?  "  her  mother  said  at  last. 

Edith's  face  contracted  again,  and  she  rose  to  her  feet. 
"  I  don't  know,  mother,"  she  answered  coldly. 

The  chime  rang  out  at  this  moment,  and  she  frowned  as  she 
listened  to  it. 

"  1  wish  those  bells  could  be  stopped  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  They  deafen  me." 

^ 


286  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

Mrs.  Beale  had  also  risen  from  her  chair,  smiling  mechani 
cally,  but  with  pain  and  perplexity  at  her  heart.  UI  am  sure 
it  is  the  journey,"  she  said.  "  It  has  quite  upset  you.  Your 
nerves  are  all  jarred.  You  must  really  lie  down  for  a  little — 
see,  dearest,  here  on  the  couch  ;  and  keep  quite  quiet."  She 
arranged  the  cushions. 

"  Come,  dear,"  she  urged,  "like  a  good  child,  and  I  will 
cover  you  up." 

Edith  had  been  accustomed  to  this  kind  of  gentle  compul 
sion  ail  her  life,  and  as  she  yielded  to  it  now  she  began  to  feel 
more  like  herself.  "  I  knew  I  should  be  better  with  you, 
mother,"  she  said  sighing  ;  and  then  she  reached  up  her  arm, 
and  drew  her  mother's  face  down  to  hers.  "Kiss  me,  mother, 
and  tell  me  you  forgive  me  for  being  impatient." 

"  Dear  child,  you  are  not  impatient,"  her  mother  answered, 
adding  to  herself,  as  she  returned  to  her  seat  ;  "  I  hope  it  is 
only  impatience  !  " 

Edith  had  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  and  soon  appeared  to 
be  asleep.  Then  her  mother  went  down  to  the  library.  The 
bishop  rose  from  his  writing  table  when  she  entered.  It  was 
a  habit  of  his  to  be  polite  to  his  wife. 

"  I  think  you  were  right  last  night  about  Edith,"  she  said. 
"  She  is  not  as  she  should  be.  Write  to  Dr.  Galbraith.  Ask 
him  to  come  here  to-morrow.  Ask  him  to  dine  and  stay  the 
night,  as  if  it  were  only  an  ordinary  visit — not  to  alarm  her, 
you  know.  But  tell  him  why  we  want  him  to  come.  I  am 
nervous  about  her. 

Mrs.  Beale's  face  quivered,  and  she  burst  into  tears  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  !  I  am  sure  there  is  no  need  to  agitate  your 
self,"  the  bishop  exclaimed.  "  Now  do — now  don't,  really  ! 
See  !  I  will  write  at  once." 

He  sat  down,  and  began,  "  My  dear  George,"  and  then 
looked  up  at  his  wife  to  see  if  she  were  not  already 
relieved. 

Mrs.  Beale  could  not  speak,  but  she  stroked  his  head  once 
or  twice  in  acknowledgment  of  his  great  kindness.  Then  more 
tears  came  because  he  was  so  very  kind  ;  and  finally  she  was 
obliged  to  go  to  her  own  room  to  recover  herself. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  however,  she  became  reassured.  Edith 
seemed  much  refreshed  by  her  sleep,  and,  in  the  afternoon 
when  the  three  ladies  came  from  the  castle  to  call  upon  her, 
bringing  Angelica  with  them,  she  quite  roused  up. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  287 

"  What,  Angelica  a  grown  up  young  lady  in  a  long  dress !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  But  where  is  Diavolo  ?  " 

"  We  had  a  slight  difference  of  opinion  this  morning," 
Angelica  answered  stiffly. 

"Dear  me  !  that  is  a  new  thing  !  "  Mrs.  Beale  commented. 

"No,  it  is  not,"  Angelica  contradicted,  bridling  visibly. 
"  Only,  when  we  were  younger  we  used  to — settle  our  differ 
ences — at  once,  and  have  done  with  them.  But  now  that  I  am 
in  long  dresses  Diavolo  won't  do  that,  so  we  have  to  sulk  like 
married  people." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  I  don't  see  why  you  should  quarrel  at 
all,"  Mrs.  Beale  remonstrated. 

"  You  would  if  you  were  with  us,  I  expect,"  Angelica 
answered,  and  then  she  turned  her  attention  to  Edith,  but  not 
by  a  sign  did  she  betray  the  slightest  consciousness  of  the 
latter's  disfigurement — unless  making  herself  unusually  agree 
able  was  a  symptom  of  commiseration  ;  and  in  this  she  suc 
ceeded  so  thoroughly  that  when  the  others  rose  to  go  Edith 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  part  with  her. 

"Won't  you  stay  with  me  here  a  few  days?"  she  entreated. 

Angelica  reflected.  "  It  would  do  him  good,  I  should  think," 
she  said  at  last. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  !  "  Edith  agreed,  laughing. 

"  Did  I  speak  ?  "  said  Angelica. 

"Yes,"  Edith  answered.  "You  informed  me  that  you  are 
going  to  stay  here  in  order  to  punish  Diavolo  by  depriving  him 
of  your  society  for  a  time." 

"  I  am  sure  I  did  not  say  all  that !  "  Angelica  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  not  exactly,  perhaps,"  Edith  confessed  ;  "  but  you 
led  me  to  infer  it." 

"Well,  I  will  stay,"  Angelica  decided.  "Aunt  Fulda,  I'm 
going  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days  with  Edith,"  she  answered. 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  her  aunt  meekly  rejoined.  "  Are  you 
going  to  stay  now  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Tell  Elizabeth  to  bring  me  some  wearing  apparel." 

As  they  drove  back  to  Morne,  Lady  Claudia  scolded  Lady 
Fulda  for  so  weakly  allowing  Angelica  to  have  her  own  way  in 
everything. 

"  I  thought  you  would  agree  with  me  that  the  sweet  womanly 
influence  at  the  palace  would  do  her  good,"  Lady  Fulda 
answered,  in  an  injured  tone. 

"'Sweet  womanly'  nonsense!"  said  Lady  Claude.  "She 
will  twist  them  all  round  her  little  finger,  and  turn  the  whole 


233  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

place  upside  down  before  she  leaves,  or  I  am  much  mis. 
taken." 

"Well,  dear,  if  you  would  only  make  Angelica  do  whatjw/ 
wish  while  you  are  here  to  influence  her  I  should  be  thank- 
ful,"  Lady  Fulda  rejoined  with  gentle  dignity. 

Lady  Claudia  said  no  more. 

Things  went  merrily  at  the  palace  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg  called,  and  Mr.  Kilroy  of  Ilverthorpe,  between 
whom  and  Angelica  there  was  always  an  excellent  under 
standing  ;  and  she  entertained  him  now  with  observations  and 
anecdotes  which  so  amused  Edith  that,  as  Mrs.  Beale  said  to 
the  bishop  afterward  :  "  The  dear,  naughty  child  quite  took 
her  out  of  herself." 

Angelica  had  never  been  in  the  same  house  with  a  baby 
before,  and  she  was  all  interest.  Whatever  defects  of  charac 
ter  the  new  women  may  eventually  acquire,  lack  of  maternal 
affection  will  not  be  one  of  them. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  baby  ?"  she  asked  Elizabeth,  when  the 
latter  was  brushing  her  hair  for  dinner.  He  had  not  been 
visible  during  the  afternoon,  but  Angelica  had  thought  of  him 
incessantly. 

"  Yes,  Miss,"  Elizabeth  answered. 

"Is  he  a  pretty  baby?"  Angelica  wanted  to  know. 

Elizabeth  pursed  up  her  lips  with  an  air  of  reserve. 

"You  don't  think  so?"  Angelica  said — she  had  seen  the 
maid's  face  in  the  mirror  before  her.  "  What  is  he  like  ?" 

"  He's  exactly  like  the  bishop,  Miss." 

Angelica  broke  into  a  broad  smile  at  herself  in  the  glass. 
"  What !  a  little  old  man  baby  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Miss — with  a  cold  in  his  head,"  the  maid  said 
seriously. 

When  she  was  dressed,  Angelica  went  to  make  his  acquaint 
ance.  On  the  way  she  discovered  her  particular  friend,  the 
bishop,  going  furtively  in  the  same  direction,  and  slipped  her 
hand  through  his  arm. 

"  We'll  go  together,"  she  said  confidentially,  taking  it  for 
granted  that  his  errand  was  the  same  as  her  own. 

The  nurse  was  undressing  the  child  when  they  entered,  and 
Edith  sat  watching  her.  She  was  already  dressed  for  the 
evening,  and  looked  wors-e  in  an  elaborate  toilet  than  she  had 
done  in  her  morning  dress.  A  stranger  would  have  found  it 
hard  to  believe  that  only  the  year  before  she  had  been  radiantly 
healthy  and  beautiful.  The  puzzled,  pathetic  expression  was 


TJ1E    HEAVENLY   TWINS.  289 

again  in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  the  child.  She  had  no  smile 
for  him,  and  uttered  no  baby  words  to  him — nor  had  he  a 
smile  for  her.  He  was  old,  old  already,  and  exhausted  with 
suffering,  and  as  his  gaze  wandered  from  one  to  the  other  it 
was  easy  to  believe  that  he  was  asking  each  dumbly  why  had 
he  ever  been  born  ? 

"  Is  that  Edith's  baby?"  Angelica  exclaimed  in  her  aston 
ishment  and  horror  under  her  breath,  slipping  her  hand  from 
the  bishop's  arm. 

She  had  seen  enough  in  one  momentary  glance,  and  she  fled 
from  the  room.  The  bishop  followed  her.  Mrs.  Beale  was 
there  when  they  entered,  standing  behind  her  daughter's  chair, 
but  she  did  not  look  at  her  husband,  nor  he  at  her.  For  the 
first  time  in  their  married  life,  poor  souls,  they  were  afraid  to 
meet  each  other's  eyes. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

NEXT  day,  in  the  afternoon,  Mrs.  Beale  being  otherwise 
engaged,  Edith  proposed  that  she  and  Angelica  should  go 
for  a  drive  together.  Edith  was  feeling  better,  and  Angelica 
had  recovered  her  equanimity.  She  suggested  that  they  should 
drive  toward  Fountain  Towers.  Edith  had  not  been  on  that 
road  since  her  marriage,  and  when  they  passed  the  place  where 
she  and  her  mother  had  seen  the  young  French  girl  lying 
insensible  on  the  pathway  with  her  baby  beside  her  she  was 
reminded  of  the  incident,  and  described  it  to  Angelica,  adding  : 
44 1  have  so  often  longed  to  know  what  became  of  her." 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Angelica.  "  I  know  her  quite  well  by 
sight.  She  is  living  with  Nurse  Griffiths,  in  Honeysuckle  Cot* 
tage,  on  Dr.  Galbraith's  estate.  Nurse  Griffiths  told  us  he 
brought  her  there  one  day  in  his  carriage  very  ill,  and  she  has 
been  there  ever  since.  He  always  gets  angry  and  snaps  at  you 
if  he's  bothered  about  anybody  who's  ill  or  unfortunate,  and 
Diavolo  and  I  met  him  that  day  coming  away  from  the  cottage, 
and  he  spoke  to  us  so  shortly  we  were  sure  there  was  some 
thing  bad  the  matter,  so  we  went  to  see  what  it  was,  and  Nurse 
Griffiths  said  she  was  French.  I've  not  been  there  since,  but 
I  expect  it's  the  same  girl.  Shall  we  stop  and  see  ?  We  pass 
the  end  of  the  lane  where  the  cottage  is." 

Edith  agreed  eagerly.  She  said  it  would  be  a  relief  to  her 
mind  to  know  that  the  girl  was  well  cared  for  and  happy. 

"  Oh,  everybody  is  well  cared  for  and  happy  on  Dr.  Gal- 


290  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

braith's  estate,"  said  Angelica.  "  His  tenants  worship  him. 
And  they  would  rather  be  abused  by  him  than  complimented 
by  anybody  else." 

The  cottage,  covered  with  the  honeysuckle  from  which  it  took 
its  name,  stood  in  a  large  old-fashioned  garden,  at  the  edge  of  a 
fir  plantation,  which  sheltered  it  from  the  northeast  wind  at 
the  back,  and  filled  the  air  about  it  with  balsamic  fragrance. 

Edith  and  Angelica  left  the  carriage  at  the  end  of  the  lane 
and  walked  up. 

"  What  a  lovely  spot !  "  Edith  exclaimed.  "  On  a  still  bright 
day  like  this  it  makes  one  realize  what  the  Saints  meant  by 
'holy  calm.'  I  think  I  should  like  to  live  in  such  a  place,  and 
never  hear  another  echo  from  the  outside  world." 

"I  suppose  you  would  just  like  to  add  dear  Mosley  to  the 
establishment,"  Angelica  suggested. 

Edith's  heart  contracted.  She  had  not  thought  of  her  hus 
band,  and  now  when  she  did  it  was  with  a  pang,  because  she 
could  not  include  him  in  her  idea  of  Eden. 

The  French  girl  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the  cottage  with 
a  child  in  her  arms. 

"  Is  Nurse  Griffiths  in  ?"  Angelica  asked. 

Edith  looked  at  the  child.  It  should  have  been  running 
about  by  that  time,  but  it  was  small  and  rickety,  with  bones 
that  bent  beneath  its  weight,  slight  as  it  was.  Edith  had  looked 
at  it  first  with  some  interest,  but  its  unhealthy  appearance 
repelled  her.  She  managed,  however,  to  speak  to  the  girl  about 
it  kindly. 

"  What  is  your  baby's  name  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mosley  Menteith,"  was  the  answer. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  Edith  as  if  all  the  world  were 
blotted  out,  and  then  again  the  hum  of  bees,  the  chirrup  of 
birds,  the  fall  of  a  fir-cone,  the  call  of  the  cock-pheasant  in  the 
wood  sounded  obtrusively,  making  the  girl's  voice  as  she  con 
tinued  speaking  appear  far  off  and  indistinct. 

"I  called  him  after  his  father,  then,  didn't  I?"  she  was 
saying  to  the  baby  in  good  English,  but  with  a  French  accent. 
11  And  he's  to  grow  up,  and  be  a  big  strong  fellow  and  beat  his 
father,  isn't  he,  for  he's  a  bad,  bad  man  !  " 

Nurse  Griffiths  hearing  voices  in  the  porch  came  out. 

"  Hush,  Louise,"  she  said  to  the  girl.  "  You've  no  call  to 
talk  in  that  way  now.  You  must  excuse  her,"  she  added  to 
the  ladies.  "  She's  had  a  bad  bringing  up." 

"  I  can't — believe  you,"  Edith  faltered.  "  Tell  me— 
exactly." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS,  291 

"Well,  it  was  in  this  way,"  the  girl  rejoined,  speaking  in  the 
prosaic  tone  in  which  her  countrywomen  are  accustomed  to 
discuss  matters  that  inspire  ours  with  too  much  disgust  to  be 
mentioned.  "  Menteith  came  after  me,  and  my  sister  wanted 
money,  so  she  made  me  believe  that  he  couldn't  marry  me 
because  there  was  a  law,  to  prevent  it.  She  said  he  loved  me, 
and  if  I  loved  him  well  enough,  it  would  be  a  noble  thing  to 
disregard  the  law,  and  he  gave  her  seventy-five  pounds  for 
that.  I  found  her  letter  to  Menteith  about  it,  and  I've  got  it 
here,"  tapping  the  bosom  of  her  gown.  "  He  took  me  abroad 
when  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  left  me  in  Paris  with  five 
pounds  in  my  pocket ;  but  it  was  enough  to  bring  me  back.  I 
was  sick  when  I  landed  at  Dover,  and  they  sent  me  to  the 
workhouse  ;  and  when  I  got  well  again  I  told  them  I  had 
friends  in  Morningquest,  and  they  gave  me  a  little  help  to  get 
there  ;  but  I  had  to  tramp  most  of  the  way,  and  I  was  weak — 
I  couldn't  have  got  as  far  as  I  did  if  I  hadn't  wanted  to  kill 
them  both." 

"  Now,  hush  !  "  said  Nurse  Griffiths.  "  The  Lord  saved  you 
from  such  a  sin." 

"  The  Lord  !"  said  the  girl  derisively.  "If  the  Lord  had 
been  inclined  to  help  me,  he  wouldn't  have  waited  till  I  came 
to  murder.  It  wasn't  the  Lord  saved  me." 

"  She  will  say  that,  and  I  can't  cure  her,"  Nurse  Griffiths 
declared.  "  But  I'm  afraid  you're  feeling  the  heat,  ma'am,  and 
you  are  not  very  strong,"  she  added,  addressing  Edith,  who 
was  clinging  to  the  porch  for  support,  looking  strangely  hag 
gard.  "  Won't  you  come  in  and  sit  down  a  bit?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  it  is  nothing,"  Edith  answered  steadily, 
recovering  herself. 

"  Will  you  come  and  sit  down  with  me  on  that  seat  ?"  she 
said  to  Louise,  indicating  a  rustic  bench  under  an  old  pear  tree 
at  the  end  of  the  garden.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Nurse  Griffiths  and  Angelica  remained  in  the  porch. 

"  Who  is  that  lady,  Miss  ?  "  the  nurse  asked  when  Edith  was 
out  of  hearing. 

"  Lady  Menteith,"  Angelica  answered. 

The  woman  threw  up  her  hands.  "  O  Lord  !  have  mercy 
upon  her — and  upon  us!  What  a  cruel,  cruel  shame  !  She's 
showing  her  the  letter.  Eh  !  it's  enough  to  kill  her.  You 
generally  know  all  the  mischief  that's  going,  Miss  !  Why 
did  you  bring  her  here  ?  " 

"  J  wish  I  had  known  this,  then,"  said  Angelica,  whose  heart 


292  THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

was  thumping  painfully.  "If  any  harm  comes  of  it,  I  shall 
always  think  it  was  my  fault." 

"  Well,  there's  no  call  to  do  that  if  you  didn't  know,"  the 
woman  answered.  "I  see  she  was  a  great  lady  myself,  but  I 
never  thought  it  was  her.  Eh  !  but  it's  the  dirty  men  makes 
the  misery." 

On  the  way  back,  Edith  stopped  the  carriage  at  the  telegraph 
office,  and  despatched  a  message  to  her  husband  to  come  to 
her,  "Come  at  once." 

They  only  arrived  in  time  to  dress  hurriedly  for  dinner,  and 
when  they  went  down  to  the  drawing  room  they  found  Dr. 
Galbraith  there  with  the  bishop  and  Mrs.  Beale. 

"  Where  have  you  two  been  the  whole  afternoon  ? "  the  latter 
asked. 

"We  had  tea  in  the  library  at  Fountain  Towers,"  Angelica 
answered  easily,  *'  and  obtained  some  useful  knowledge  from 
your  books." 

Dr.  Galbraith  looked  hard  at  her :  "  I  wonder  what  devil 
ment  you've  been  up  to  now  ?  "  he  thought. 

But  Angelica's  manner  was  as  unconcerned  as  possible. 
Edith's  was  not,  however.  Her  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  un 
naturally  glittering,  and  she  became  excited  about  trifles,  and 
talked  loudly  at  table  ;  and  in  the  drawing  room  after  dinner 
she  could  not  keep  still.  Mrs.  Beale  asked  Angelica  to  play, 
and  Angelica  tried  something  soothing  at  first,  but  Edith  com 
plained  impatiently  that  those  things  always  made  her  melan 
choly.  Then  Angelica  played  some  bars  of  patriotic  music, 
stirring  in  the  extreme,  but  Edith  stopped  her  again. 

"  That  wearies  my  brain,"  she  said,  and  began  to  pace  about 
the  room,  up  and  down,  up  and  down.  Her  mother  watched 
her  anx:fusly.  Angelica  closed  the  piano.  Dr.  Galbraith  and 
the  bishop  came  in  from  the  dining  room,  and  then  Edith 
declared  that  driving  in  the  open  air  had  made  her  so  sleepy 
she  must  go  to  bed. 

Angelica  noticed  that  Dr.  Galbraith  scrutinized  her  face 
sharply  as  he  shook  hands  with  her. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  child,"  the  bishop  said  when  she 
kissed  him,  and  his  lips  moved  afterward  for  some  seconds  as 
if  he  were  in  prayer.  Her  mother  followed  her  out  of  the 
room;  and  then  silence  settled  on  the  three  who  were  left. 
The  bishop  was  obviously  uneasy.  Dr.  Galbraith's  good- 
looking  plainness  was  softened  by  a  serious  expression  which 
added  much  to  the  attractiveness  of  his  strong  kind  face. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  293 

Angelica  shivered,  and  was  about  to  break  the  spell  of  silence 
boldly  in  her  energetic  way,  when  suddenly,  and  apparently 
overhead,  a  heavy  bell  tolled  once. 

It  was  only  the  cathedral  clock  striking  the  hour,  but  it 
sounded  portentously  through  the  solemn  stillness  of  the 
night,  and  with  quickened  attention  they  all  looked  up  and 
listened. 

Slowly  the  big  bell  boomed  forth  ten  strokes.  Then  came  a 
pause;  and  then  the  chime  rolled  through  the  room,  a  deafening 
volume  of  sound,  in  long  reverberations,  from  amidst  which 
the  constant  message  disentangled  itself  as  it  were,  but  dis 
tinctly,  although  to  each  listener  with  a  different  effect: 

'^TTfrr^rT~rtf 


Be,  watch-ing  o-ver        Is  -  ra  -  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 


It  awoke  Dr.  Galbraith  from  a  train  of  painful  reflections;  it 
reassured  the  bishop;  and  it  made  Angelica  fret  for  Diavolo 
remorsefully. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  NGELICA  must  have  fallen  asleep  the  moment  she  got 
j\  into  bed  that  night,  and  just  as  instantly  she  began 
to  dream.  She  had  never  hitherto  felt  a  throb  of  passion. 
She  had  given  the  best  love  of  her  life  to  her  brother,  and 
had  made  no  personal  application  of  anything  she  had  heard, 
or  seen,  or  read  of  lovers,  so  that  the  possibility  of  ever 
having  one  of  her  own  had  never  cost  her  a  serious  thought, 
But  the  excitement  of  that  day  and  the  occupations  had  so 
wrought  upon  her  imagination  that  when  she  slept  she  dreamt, 
and  in  her  dream  she  saw  a  semblance,  the  semblance  of  a 
man,  a  changing  semblance,  the  features  of  which  she  could 
not  discern,  although  she  tried  with  frenzied  effort,  because 
she  knew  that  when  she  saw  him  fully  face  to  face  he  would  be 
hers.  They  were  not  in  this  world,  nor  in  the  next.  They 
were  not  even  in  the  universe.  They  were  simply  each  the 
centre  of  a  great  light  which  formed  a  sphere  about  them,  and 
separated  them  from  one  another;  and  heaven  and  hell,  and 
earth  and  sky,  and  night  and  day,  and  life  and  death  were  all 
added  to  the  glory  of  those  spheres  of  light.  And  she  knew 
how;  but  there  is  no  word  of  human  speech  to  express  it.  She 


294  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

lay  on  light,  she  stood  on  light,  she  sat  on  light,  she  swam  in 
light;  and  wallowed,  and  walked,  and  ran,  and  leaped,  and 
soared,  rolling  along  in  her  own  sphere  until  the  monotony 
made  her  giddy;  and  all  her  endeavour  was  to  reach  her  lover, 
not  for  himself  so  much  as  because  she  knew  that  if  their  two 
lights  could  be  added  in  equal  parts  to  each  other  and  mingled 
into  one,  their  combined  effulgence  would  make  a  pathway  to 
heaven.  But  try  as  she  would  she  could  not  attain  her  object, 
and  finally  she  became  so  exhausted  by  the  struggle  that  she 
was  obliged  to  desist.  The  moment  she  did  so,  however,  the 
other  sphere  turned  of  its  own  accord,  and  rolled  up  to  her. 
"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Angelica.  "  How  easily  things  are  done 
when  the  right  time  comes  !  "  The  semblance  now  took  shape, 
and  kissed  her.  "  How  nice  !  "  thought  Angelica,  returning 
the  kiss.  "  This  is  love.  Love  is  life.  I  am  his.  He  is  mine. 
Most  of  all,  he  is  mine  '  "  "  No,  we  can't  allow  that  !  "  said  a 
chorus  of  men  from  the  earth.  **  You'  re  beginning  to  know 
too  much.  You'll  want  to  be  paid  for  your  labour  next  just  as 
well  as  we  are,  and  that  is  unwomanly!"  But  Angelica  only 
laughed  and  kissed  her  lover.  "  Talk  does  no  good,"  she  said; 
"  this  is  the  one  thing  the  great  man-boy-booby  understands  at 
present !  "  So  she  kissed  him  again,  and  every  time  she  kissed 
him,  he  changed.  He  was  Samson,  Abraham,  Lot,  Antony, 
Caesar,  Pan,  Achilles,  Hercules,  Jove;  he  was  Lancelot  and 
Arthur,  Percival,  Galahad  and  Gawaine.  He  was  Henry  VIII., 
Richelieu,  Robespierre,  Luther,  and  several  Popes.  He  was 
David  the  Psalmist,  beloved  of  the  man-god  of  the  Hebrews. 
He  was  golden-haired  Absalom,  and  St.  Paul  in  his  unregen- 
erate  days.  But  he  never  was  Solomon.  She  saw  hundreds  of 
women  dividing  Solomon  among  them,  and  cherishing  the 
little  bits  in  the  Woman's  Sphere  of  their  day,  and  they  offered 
her  a  portion,  but  she  refused  to  take  it.  She  said  she  would 
have  the  whole  of  him  or  none  at  all,  and  they  were  horribly 
shocked.  They  said  :  "  Fie  !  you  are  no  true  woman  !  "A 
woman  is  satisfied  with  very  little,  and  silently  submits."  But 
Angelica  answered:  "Rubbish!  What  do  you  know  of 
womanhood  and  truth?  you  talk  like  a  bishop  !"  And  the 
clergy  were  dreadfully  offended  at  this.  They  said  she  was  all 
wrong.  They  said  it  mildly.  They  shouted  it  rudely.  They 
whispered  it  persuasively,  and  then  they  blustered.  "  We  are 
right,  and  you  are  wrong  !  "  they  maintained.  "  Well,  I  have 
only  your  word  for  that,"  said  Angelica,  which  provoked  them 
again.  "  We  speak  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  !  "  they  answered. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  295 

"  Oh,  anybody  could  do  that,"  said  Angelica,  "  but  it  wouldn't 
prove  that  they  have  the  Lord's  permission  to  use  his  name." 
Then  they  reminded  her  that  the  true  spirit  of  God  had  been 
bestowed  upon  them  for  transmission,  and  she  answered  :  "Yes, 
but  it  was  taken  from  you  again  for  your  sins,  and  confided  to 
Ua;  and  wherever  a  virtuous  woman  is,  there  is  the  spirit  of 
God,  and  the  will  of  God,  and  there  only  !  "  Then  they  drew 
off  a  little  and  consulted,  and  when  they  spoke  again  they  had 
lowered  their  tone  considerably.  "  But  you  will  allow,  I  sup 
pose,  that  we  have  done  some  good  in  the  world  ?  "  they  said 
collectively.  "  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  "  you  have  done  your 
duty  here  and  there  to  the  best  of  your  ability,  but  your  ability 
was  considerably  impaired  by  vice.  However,  you  have  brought 
the  world  up  out  of  the  dark  ages  of  physical  force  at  our 
instigation,  and  helped  to  prepare  it  for  us;  now  step  down 
gracefully,  take  your  pensions  and  perquisites,  and  hold  your 
tongues.  Men  are  the  muscle,  the  hard  working  material  of 
the  nation;  women  are  the  soul  and  spirit,  the  directing  intelli 
gence."  They  were  about  to  reply,  but  before  they  could  do 
so,  a  stentorian  voice  proclaimed  : 

"  HOME  is  THE  WOMAN'S  SPHERE  !  " 

"Who  are  you  ?"  said  Angelica  coolly.  "  I  am  the  Pope  of 
Rome,"  he  answered,  strutting  up  to  her  with  dignity.  "And 
what  doyvu  know  about  the  Woman's  Sphere  ?  "  she  said  laugh 
ing.  "  I  am  informed  of  God !  "  he  declared.  But  she 
answered  that  she  had  much  later  information,  and  slammed 
the  doors  of  the  Sphere  in  his  face.  Then  she  peeped  through 
the  keyhole,  and  saw  that  the  pope  was  in  consultation  with 
the  Archbishops  of  Canterbury  and  York,  and  two  popular 
cardinals.  They  were  very  quiet  at  first,  but  presently  they 
began  to  quarrel.  "  Don't  make  such  a  noise,"  she  shrieked 
through  the  keyhole  :  "  go  away  and  be  good,  will  you  ?  We're 
very  busy  in  here,  and  you  disturb  us.  We're  revising  the 
moral  laws."  The  shock  of  this  intelligence  electrified  them, 
and  while  they  stared  at  each  other  helplessly,  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  she  armed  herself  with  the  vulgar  vernacular,  which 
was  the  best  weapon,  she  understood,  to  level  at  cant.  "  Lord," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  how  Diavolo  would  enjoy  this  !  I  wish  he 
was  here  !  "  She  found  the  work  of  the  Sphere  very  heavy, 
and  she  tried  to  remember  the  name  of  some  saint,  but  for  the 
life  of  her  she  couldn't  think  of  any,  so  she  called  upon  Ouida 
and  Rhoda  Broughton.  Then  she  peeped  through  the  key- 


296  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

hole  again,  and  finding  that  the  pope  was  listening,  she  squirted 
water  into  his  ear.  The  other  Ecclesiastical  Commissioners 
remained  in  the  background,  looking  anxious.  "  We're  attend 
ing  to  man  the  iniquitous  now,"  she  called  to  them  kindly  to 
relieve  their  minds.  "He's  been  too  much  for  you,  it  seems, 
but  we'll  soon  settle  him."  "  You're  a  nasty-minded  woman," 
said  the  pope.  "  Always  abusive,  old  candles  and  vestments," 
Angelica  retorted.  " Candles  and  vestments — in  excess"  said 
the  Archbishop  of  York  hurriedly.  "  Where  ? "  And  he 
went  off  to  see  about  them.  "  To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure," 
a  powerful  voice  proclaimed  at  that  moment.  "  Ah,  that  is 
St.  Paul  ! "  said  Angelica,  surprised  and  delighted,  and  then 
she  shook  hands  with  him.  "  The  sacred  duties  of  wife  and 

mother,"  one  of  the  cardinals  began  to  pipe "  There  you 

are  meddling  again,"  Angelica  interrupted  him  rudely  ;  "  will 
you  go  away,  and  let  us  mind  our  own  business  ?  "  "  This  is 
all  your  fault,"  the  pope  said  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canter 
bury.  The  archbishop  defended  himself  courteously,  but 
another  quarrel  seemed  inevitable  nevertheless.  Before  it  could 
come  off,  however,  it  suddenly  appeared  that  if  it  were  any 
thing  it  was  UNWOMANLY  !  About  that  they  were  quite  in 
accord  ;  and  having  made  the  discovery  they  went  their 
several  ways,  shaking  their  several  heads  impressively.  "  Now 
I  shall  have  time  to  consider  the  state  of  the  Sphere,"  said 
Angelica.  "  Just  wait  till  I  can  come  and  teach  you  your  duty," 
she  called  to  the  women  there.  "  I  am  not  Esther,  most 
decidedly  !  But  I  am  Judith.  I  am  Jael.  I  am  Vashti.  I 
am  Godiva.  I  am  all  the  heroic  women  of  all  the  ages  rolled 
into  one,  not  for  the  shedding  of  blood,  but  for  the  saving  of 
suffering."  They  did  not  understand  her  a  bit,  however,  they 
were  so  dazed,  and  they  all  looked  askance  at  her.  "  I  see," 
she  said  ;  "  I  shall  have  to  save  you  in  spite  of  yourselves." 
But  when  she  had  looked  a  little  longer,  and  seen  men,  women, 
and  children  crowding  like  loathsome  maggots  together,  she  was 
disheartened.  "  All  this  filth  will  breed  a  pestilence,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  that  pestilence  were  ME  !  " 
But  just  at  that  moment  the  light  went  out,  someone  uttered  a 
cry,  and  Angelica  awoke.  The  room  was  flooded  with  moon 
light.  "  I  am  awake  now,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  that  was 
a  real  cry.  It  was  '  murder  ! '  I  think  " — and  she  rose  intrepidly 
to  rush  to  the  rescue.  She  was  going  off  at  once,  just  as  she 
was,  in  her  nightdress  ;  but  the  house  was  so  still  at  the  moment 
that  she  thought  she  might  be  mistaken.  She  was  determined 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  297 

to  go  and  see  for  herself,  however,  in  order  to  make  sure  ; 
and  having  pinned  up  her  hair,  she  put  on  her  shoes  and  stock 
ings  and  a  dressing  gown,  and  opened  the  door,  her  heart  beat 
ing  wildly  all  the  time.  It  was  a  sickening  sensation.  But  as 
she  listened  she  became  aware  of  voices  speaking  naturally, 
and  people  moving  to  and  fro,  which  somewhat  reassured  her. 
She  left  the  room,  however,  and  ran  down  the  corridor. 

At  the  farther  end  a  bright  shaft  of  light  streamed  across  it 
from  a  half-open  door,  and  she  heard  Edith  speaking  wildly. 

"  My  poor  child  !  my  poor  child,"  Mrs.  Beale  answered  with 
tears  in '  her  voice.  "  Do  try  and  calm  yourself.  Won't  you 
tell  us  this  story  that  is  troubling  you  now  ?  You  will  feel 
better  if  you  tell  us." 

"  No,  no,"  Edith  answered  quickly.  "  I  will  not  tell  you 
until  he  comes,  any  of  you.  But  when  he  comes  !  "  There 
was  a  pause,  then  she  asked  feebly  :  "  Doctor,  what  is  the 
matter  with  my  head  ? "  But  before  he  could  answer,  she 
broke  out  into  a  stream  of  horrid  imprecations. 

Angelica  put  her  hands  to  her  ears,  and  flew  back  past  her 
own  room  to  the  top  of  the  stairs.  There  she  encountered  the 
bishop.  He  was  trembling.  He  was  at  a  loss.  Nothing  he 
had  ever  studied  either  in  theology  or  metaphysics  had  in  the 
slightest  degree  prepared  him  for  the  state  of  things  in  society 
which  he  was  now  being  forced  to  consider. 

"  My  dear  child  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  What  are  you  doing 
here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  frightened  !  I'm  frightened  !  "  Angelica  cried, 
thumping  him  hard  on  the  chest  with  both  fists.  "  Let  us  go 
away  and  hide  ourselves  !  "  She  seized  his  hand  impetuously, 
and  dragged  him  downstairs  after  her  sideways,  a  mode  of 
descent  which  was  more  rapid  than  either  safe  or  graceful  for  a 
little  fat  bishop  in  evening  dress. 

"  Come,  come,  come  to  the  library  with  me,  and  talk  about 
God  and  good  angels,  and  that  kind  of  thing,"  she  cried. 

"  But  this  is  the  middle  of  the  night,"  the  bishop  objected. 

"Well,  and  is  there  any  time  like  the  present?"  Angelica 
exclaimed.  "  Come  at  once — come  and  say  nice  soothing  things 
from  the  psalms." 

As  she  spoke,  she  dragged  him  across  the  hall  and  into  the 
library  from  whence  he  had  just  issued,  and  then  slammed  the 
door.  The  bishop  reproved  her  for  this,  and  wanted  her  to 
go  to  bed,  but  she  refused.  "  Go  to  bed,  and  lie  awake  in  the 
dark  with  horrid  words  about,  how  can  you  expect  it  ? "  she 


29 8  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

demanded.  "  I  shall  not  go  to  bed  unless  you  come  and  sit 
beside  me  all  night  long." 

Poor  Angelica  !  impetuous,  imperious,  but  in  that  she  was 
her  father's  daughter,  not  saved  by  her  wonderful  intelligence 
from  being  fantastical.  There  must  inevitably  have  been  an 
element  of  broad  farce  in  the  veriest  tragedy  into  which  she 
might  have  been  brought  at  that  time,  an  element  which  was 
rendered  all  the  more  conspicuous  by  her  own  inability  to  per 
ceive  at  the  moment  that  she  was  behaving  ridiculously,  and 
making  others  ridiculous.  But  the  bishop  himself  -was  not 
conscious  of  any  absurdity  or  loss  of  dignity.  It  was  only  the 
inconvenience  that  he  felt  just  then.  For  he  was  fresh  from  a 
painful  interview  with  Dr.  Galbraith,  and  every  nerve  was  jar 
ring  in  response  to  the  horror  that  had  come  upon  him.  His 
heart  was  wrung,  and  his  conscience  did  not  acquit  him.  He 
did  recognize  now,  however,  that  Angelica  was  in  no  fit  state 
of  mind  to  be  left  alone,  and  sitting  down  beside  a  little  table 
on  which  stood  his  constant  companion  and  friend  for  many 
years,  a  large  quarto  copy  of  the  Bible,  he  folded  his  hands 
upon  it,  seeming  to  pray,  while  he  waited  patiently  until  she 
should  have  calmed  herself. 

Her  indignation  had  driven  her  to  seek  a  more  popular  form 
of  relief  than  the  bishop  had  chosen.  As  she  paced  up  and 
down  the  room  in  evident  agitation,  every  now  and  then  stop 
ping  short  to  wring  her  hands  when  terrible  thoughts  came 
crowding,  she  became  in  her  own  mind  exceedingly  abusive. 

She  revised  and  enlarged  her  reply  to  that  cardinal  who  had 
piped  to  her  earlier  in  the  night  about  the  sacred  duties  of 
wife  and  mother.  "  What  do  you  know  about  '  the  Sacred 
Duties  of  Wife  and  Mother  '  ?"  she  jeered,  increasing  her  pace 
as  her  passion  waxed.  "  Wait  until  you're  a  wife  and  mother 
yourself,  and  then  perhaps  you'll  be  able  to  give  an  opinion  ; 
and,  meanwhile,  attend  to  your  own  '  Sacred  Duties.'  You 
will  come  poking  your  nose  into  the  Sphere  where  it's  not 
wanted" — she  shook  her  fist  at  him — "with  your  theories." 
She  exclaimed  :  "  You  meddling  priest  !  What  you're  afraid 
of  is  that  there  won't  be  slaves  enough  in  the  world  to  make 
money  for  you  ;  or  poor  enough  to  bear  witness  to  your 
Christian  charity  !  You  needn't  be  afraid,  though.  So  long 
as  we  have  you  there'll  be- poverty  in  plenty!"  Here  she 
became  conscious  of  the  attitude  of  her  companion.  The 
bishop  blotted  out  the  cardinal.  His  wrinkled  hands,  meekly 
folded  ;  his  white  head  bowed  ;  his  benign  face  expressive  of 


THE  HEAVENLY   T IV INS.  299 

intense  mental  suffering  heroically  borne,  impressed  her. 
"  Resignation  ?  No,  not  resignation  exactly,"  her  thoughts  ran 
on.  "  To  be  resigned  is  to  acquiesce.  Resistance  ?  Yes.  To 
resist — but  not  to  resist  with  rage.  Be  firm,  but  be  gentle." 
She  sat  down  at  last  in  an  easy-chair  and  leaned  back,  looking 
up  at  the  ceiling.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  fast  asleep.  When 
she  awoke  the  room  was  empty,  but  outside  she  heard  reced 
ing  footsteps,  and  springing  up  with  characteristic  impetuosity 
she  followed  after  "  to  see  for  herself." 

The  shutters  were  still  closed  in  the  library,  and  the  lamps 
were  burning  ;  but  it  was  broad  daylight  in  the  hall,  and  a 
heavy  squall  of  rain  was  beating  against  the  windows  with 
mournful  effect.  Angelica  saw  a  manservant  standing  beside 
some  baggage  as  she  passed,  and  wondered  who  had  arrived. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  overtook  Dr.  Galbraith,  and 
caught  his  arm. 

"  Is  Edith  better  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

Dr.  Galbraith  looked  down  at  her,  clasped  both  her  hands  in 
one  of  his  as  they  rested  on  his  arm,  and  led  her  upstairs. 
Before  they  reached  the  top,  his  firm,  cool  touch  had  steadied 
her  nerves,  and  calmed  her. 

"  This  is  your  room,  I  think,"  he  said,  stopping  when  they 
reached  it. 

Angelica  took  the  hint,  and  went  in,  but  she  did  not  shut 
the  door.  "  You  might  have  told  me,  you  pig,  and  then  per 
haps  I  should  have  been  satisfied,"  she  reflected,  standing  just 
inside  her  room,  holding  her  head  very  high,  and  straining  her 
ears  to  listen.  She  heard  Dr.  Galbraith  go  to  the  end  of  the 
corridor,  and  then,  as  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  ceased,  she 
knew  that  he  must  have  gone  into  Edith's  room.  The  house 
was  oppressively  still.  "I  suppose  I  am  to  be  tortured  with 
suspense  because  I  am  young,"  she  thought,  and  then  she 
followed  Dr.  Galbraith. 

The  shutters  were  still  closed  in  Edith's  room,  and  the  gas 
was  burning.  Nobody  had  thought  of  letting  the  daylight  in. 
The  door  was  open,  and  a  screen  was  drawn  across  it,  but 
Angelica  could  see  past  the  screen.  She  saw  Edith  first.  She 
was  lying  on  her  bed,  still  dressed,  and  sensible  now,  but 
exhausted.  Her  yellow  hair,  all  in  disorder,  fell  over  the 
pillow  to  one  side,  and  on  the  same  side  her  mother  sat  facing 
her,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  holding  Edith's  hand, 
which  she  patted  from  time  to  time  in  a  helpless,  piteous  sort 
of  way. 


300  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Edith  was  lying  on  her  back,  with  her  face  turned  toward 
Angelica.  There. were  deep  lines  of  suffering  marked  upon  it, 
and  her  eyes  glittered  feverishly,  but  otherwise  she  was  gray 
and  ghastly,  and  old.  It  was  the  horrible  look  of  age  that 
impressed  Angelica.  There  were  three  gentlemen  present,  the 
bishop,  Dr.  Galbraith,  and  Sir  Mosley  Menteith. 

Edith  was  looking  at  her  father.  "  That  is  why  I  sent  for 
3'ou  all,"  she  was  saying  feebly — "to  tell  you,  yor  who  repre 
sent  the  arrangement  of  society  which  has  made  il  possible 
for  me  and  my  child  to  be  sacrificed  in  this  way.  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say  to  any  of  you — except  " — she  sat  up  in  bed 
suddenly,  and  addressed  her  husband  in  scathing  tones — 
"  except  to  you.  And  what  I  want  to  say  to  you  is — Go  !  go  ! 
Father  !  turn  him  out  of  the  house.  Don't  let  me  ever  see 
that  dreadful  man  again  !  " 

She  fell  back  on  her  pillow,  white  and  still,  and  shut  her 
eyes. 

"My  darling,  you  will  kill  yourself  !"  her  mother  exclaimed. 

Dr.  Galbraith  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  bed  hurriedly,  and 
bent  over  her.  The  bishop  stood  at  the  foot,  holding  on  to 
the  rail  with  both  hands,  his  whole  face  quivering  with  sup 
pressed  emotion.  Menteith  gave  them  a  vindictive  glance, 
and  then  stole  quietly  away.  Angelica  had  made  her  escape, 
and  was  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  wringing  her  hands. 
She  was  trembling  with  rage  and  excitement.  "  I  am  Jael — I 
am  Judith — No  !  I  am  Cassandra,"  she  was  saying  to  herself. 
"  I  must  speak  !  " 

"I  wish  to  God  I  hadn't  answered  that  telegram  so  promptly 
— coming  to  be  made  an  exhibition  of  by  a  sick  woman  in  her 
tantrums,"  Menteith  reflected  as  he  walked  down  the  corridor. 
"  I'm  surprised  at  Edith.  But  it  is  so  like  a  woman  ;  you  never 
can  count  upon  them."  Here  he  caught  sight  of  Angelica, 
and  quite  started  with  interest.  "  That's  a  deuced  fine  girl,"  he 
thought,  and  followed  her  to  the  library  instinctively. 

A  servant  had  just  opened  the  shutters.  Angelica  went  to 
one  of  the  windows  and,  throwing  it  up  to  the  top,  inhaled  a  deep 
breath  of  the  fresh  morning  air.  The  rain  had  stopped.  The 
servant  put  out  the  lamps  and  withdrew,  after  standing  aside  for 
a  moment  respectfully  to  allow  Sir  Mosley  Menteith  to  enter. 
The  latter  glanced  round  the  room,  but  Angelica  was  hidden 
by  the  curtain  in  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window.  Men 
teith  bit  his  nails  and  stood  still  for  some  time.  Then  the 
bishop  came,  followed  by  Dr.  Galbraith,  and  walked  straight 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  301 

up  to  him.  It  was  a  bad  moment  for  Sir  Mosley  Menteith. 
He  tried  to  inspect  his  father-in-law  coolly,  but  his  hand  was 
somewhat  tremulous  as  he  raised  it  to  twist  the  ends  of  his 
little  light  moustache. 

"  My  daughter  wishes  you  to  leave  the  house,"  the  bishop 
said  sternly  ;  "  and — eh — I  may  say  that  I — that  we — eh — her 
father  and  mother,  also  wish  you  to  go — eh — now,  at  once." 

Angelica  sprang  from  her  hiding  place.  "  And  take  that/' 
she  cried,  "  for  a  present,  you  father  of  a  speckled  toad  !  " 
And  seizing  the  heavy  quarto  Bible  from  the  table,  she  flung  it 
with  all  her  might  full  in  his  face.  It  happened  to  hit  him  on 
the  bridge  of  his  nose,  which  it  broke. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ATER  in  the  day  Lord  Dawne,  who  had  ridden  in,  saw 
Dr.  Galbraith's  carriage  waiting  before  Mrs.  Orton  Beg's 
little  house  in  the  Close.  He  reined  in  hrs  horse,  which  was 
fidgety,  and  at  the  same  moment  Dr.  Galbraith  came  out. 

**  Nothing  wrong  here,  I  hope  ?  "  Lord  Dawne  inquired. 

"  No,"  was  the  curt  response,  "  it  is  that  poor  child  at  the 
palace.  I  have  been  up  with  her  all  night." 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  "  Lord  Dawne  inquired. 

"  Now — it  is  her  brain,"  the  doctor  answered  ;  then  stepped 
into  his  carriage  and  was  driven  away. 

Lord  Dawne  dismounted  and  met  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  who  was 
coming  out  with  her  bonnet  on. 

"  No  hope,  I  suppose  !  "  he  said  in  a  tone  of  deep  commis 
eration. 

"  Oh,  it  is  worse  than  death  !  "  she  answered.  "  I  am  going 
there  now.  Dr.  Galbraith  says  I  shall  be  of  use." 

The  bishop  and  Angelica  spent  some  time  in  the  library 
together  that  morning.  The  bishop  had  sent  for  Angelica  to 
talk  to  her,  and  she  had  come  to  talk  to  the  bishop  ;  and,  being 
quicker  of  speech  than  he,  she  had  taken  the  initiative. 

"  Did  you  ever  feel  like  a  horse  with  a  bearing  rein,  champ 
ing  his  bit  ?  "  she  began  the  moment  she  burst  into  the  room. 

**  No,  I  never  did,"  said  the  bishop  severely. 

"  Ah !  then  I  can  never  make  you  understand  how  I  feel 
now !  "  she  said,  throwing  herself  on  to  a  chair  opposite  to 
him,  sideways,  so  that  she  could  clasp  the  back.  *'  You  look 
very  unsymp.athefic,"  s^e  remarked. 


302  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

l<  It  seems  to  me,"  the  bishop  began  with  increased  severity, 
"  that  you  have  no  respect  for  anybody." 

"No,  I  have  not,"  she  answered  decidedly — "  at  least  not  for 
bishops  and  doctors  who  let  Menteith  miscreants  loose  in 
society  to  marry  whom  they  please." 

The  bishop  winced. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  reprove  you  seriously,"  he  recom 
menced,  shaking  his  head.  "  But  I  feel  that  I  should  not  be 
doing  my  duty  if  I  neglected  to  point  out  to  you  the  extremely 
reprehensible  nature  of  your  conduct,  first  in  causing  grievous 
distress  of  mind  to  Edith,  in  consequence  of  which  partly  she 
is  now  lying  dangerously  ill  upstairs " 

Angelica  stopped  him  by  suddenly  assuming  a  dignified  posi 
tion  on  her  chair.  She  looked  hard  at  him,  and  as  she  did  so 
great  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  ran  down  her  cheeks.  "  If 
I  have  done  Edith  any  injury,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  bishop  kindly 

"But  do  you  think  I  was  so  much  to  blame?"  Angelica 
demanded,  interrupting  him.  "  I  only  did  what  you  and  Mrs. 
Beale  and  everybody  else  did — took  it  for  granted  that  she  had 
married  a  decent  man.  But  go  on,"  said  Angelica,  throwing 
herself  back  in  her  chair,  and  folding  her  arms.  "  What  else 
have  I  done  ? " 

"  You  have  grievously  injured  a  fellow-creature." 

"  Oh,  '  fellow  '  if  you  like,  and  *  creature '  too,"  said  Angelica; 
"but  the  injury  I  did  him  was  a  piece  of  luck  for  which  I 
expect  to  be  congratulated." 

"  You  took  the  sacred  word  of  God,"  the  bishop  began 

"  Because  of  the  weight  of  it,"  Angelica  interrupted  again. 
"  figuratively,  too,  it  was  most  appropriate.  I  call  it  poetical 
justice,  whichever  way  you  look  at  it,  and  " — she  burst  into  a 
sudden  squall  of  rage — "if  you  nag  me  any  more  I'll  throw 
Bibles  about  until  there  isn't  a  whole  one  in  the  house  ! " 

The  bishop  looked  at  her  steadily.  "  I  shall  say  no  more," 
he  observed  very  gently  ;  "  but  I  beg  of  you  to  reflect."  Then 
he  opened  the  quarto  Bible  and  began  to  read  to  himself. 
Angelica  remained  sitting  opposite  to  him,  looking  moodily  at 
the  floor  ;  but  now  and  then  they  stole  furtive  glances  at  each 
other,  and  every  time  the  bishop  looked  at  Angelica  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  Things  have  gone  wrong  in  the  Sphere,"  slipped  from 
Angelica  at  last. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  3°3 

"  *  The  Sphere  '  ? "  said  the  bishop  looking  up.  "  What 
Sphere  ? " 

"The  Woman's  Sphere!"  Angelica  answered  solemnly,  and 
then  she  told  him  her  dream.  It  took  her  exactly  an  hour  to 
relate  it  with  such  comments  and  elucidations  as  she  deemed 
necessary,  and  the  bishop  heard  her  out.  When  she  finished 
he  was  somewhat  exhausted  ;  but  he  said  that  he  thought  it  a 
very  remarkable  dream. 

"  If  you  had  been  able  to  manage  the  Sphere,  you  see," 
Angelica  concluded,  "  and  to  regulate  the  extent  of  it,  you 
would  have  been  able  to  make  it  a  proper  place  for  us  to  live  in 
by  this  time." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  talking  nonsense  !  "  the  bishop 
exclaimed. 

4<  Well,  it  may  sound  so  to  you  at  present,"  Angelica 
answered  temperately ;  "  but  there  is  a  small  idea  in  my  mind 
which  won't  be  nonsense  when  it  grows  up."  She  was  silent 
for  a  little  after  that,  and  then  she  ejaculated  :  "I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  that  pestilence  were  Me  !  " 

"  Eh  ? "  said  the  bishop. 

"  Did  I  speak  ?"  said  Angelica. 

"  Yes." 

"Ah,  then,  that  is  because  I  am  tired  out.  I  shall  go  to  bed. 
Don't,  for  the  life  of  you,  let  anybody  disturb  me." 

She  got  up  and  left  the  room,  yawning  desperately  ;  and 
very  soon  afterward  her  aunts  came  to  take  her  back  to  Morne ; 
but  the  bishop  obeyed  her  last  injunction  implicitly,  and  they 
were  obliged  to  return  without  her. 

The  news  that  Edith  had  returned  to  the  palace,  bringing 
her  little  son  for  the  first  time,  was  soon  known  in  the  neigh 
bourhood.  The  arrival  of  the  boy  was  one  of  those  events  of 
life,  originally  destined  to  be  a  great  joy,  which  soften  the 
heart  and  make  it  tender.  And  very  soon  carriages  came  roll 
ing  up  with  ladies  leaning  forward  in  them  all  in  a  flutter  of 
sympathy  and  interest,  eager  to  offer  their  congratulations  to 
the  young  mother,  and  to  be  introduced  to  the  child.  And 
meanwhile  Mrs.  Beale  sat  beside  her  daughter's  bed,  patting 
her  slender  white  hand  from  time  to  time  as  it  lay  upon  the 
coverlet,  with  that  little  gesture  which  had  struck  Angelica  as 
being  so  piteous.  Edith  had  not  spoken  for  hours  ;  but  sud 
denly  she  exclaimed  :  "  Evadne  was  right  !  " 

Mrs.  Beale  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  and  the  tears  gathered 
in.  her  eyes  and  slowly  trickled  down  her  cheeks.  "  Edith, 


304  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

darling,"  she  said  at  last  with  a  great  effort,  "  do  you  blame 
me?" 

"  Oh,  no,  mother  !  oh,  no  !  "  Edith  cried,  pressing  her  hand, 
and  looking  at  her  with  a  last  flash  of  loving  recognition. 
"The  same  thing  may  happen  now  to  any  mother — to  any 
daughter — and  will  happen  so  long  as  we  refuse  to  know  and 
resist."  A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  her  face.  She  pressed 
her  mother's  hand  again  gently,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

Presently  she  laughed.  "  I  am  quite,  quite  mad  !  "  she  said. 
'*  Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  doing  ?  I've  been  murdering 
him  !  I've  been  creeping,  creeping,  with  bare  feet,  to  surprise 
him  in  his  sleep  ;  and  I  had  a  tiny  knife — very  sharp — and  I 
felt  for  the  artery  " — she  touched  her  neck — "  and  then  stabbed 
quickly  !  and  he  awoke,  and  knew  he  must  die — and  cowered  ! 
and  it  was  all  a  pleasure  to  me.  Oh,  yes  !  I  am  quite,  quite 
mad !  " 

She  did  not  notice  the  coming  and  going  of  people  now,  or 
anything  that  was  done  in  her  room  that  day.  Only  once  when 
she  heard  a  servant  outside  the  door  whisper :  "  For  her  lady 
ship,"  she  asked  what  it  was,  and  a  silver  salver  was  brought  to 
her  covered  with  visiting  cards.  She  looked  at  one  or  two. 
"Kind  messages,"  she  said,  "great  names  !  and  I  am  a  great 
lady  too,  I  suppose  !  I  made  a  splendid  match.  And  now  I 
have  a  lovely  little  boy — the  one  thing  wanting  to  complete  my 
happiness.  What  numbers  of  girls  must  envy  me  !  Ah  !  they 
don't  know  !  But  tell  them — tell  them  that  I'm  quite,  quite 
mad  ! " 

Mrs.  Beale  was  at  last  persuaded  to  go  and  rest,  and  Mrs. 
Orton  Beg  replaced  her. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  said  Edith.  "  I  want  to  show 
you  my  lovely  little  son.  Naturally  I  want  to  show  him  to 
everyone  ! "  and  she  laughed. 

Late  in  the  evening,  when  the  room  was  lighted  up,  Edith 
noticed  her  father  and  mother  and  Dr.  Galbraith.  Angelica 
was  there  too,  but  in  the  background. 

"  Oh-h  ! "  Edith  exclaimed  with  a  sudden  shriek,  starting  up 
in  bed — "  I  want  to  kill — I  want  to  kill  him.  I  want  to  kill 
that  monstrous  child  !  " 

Dr.  Galbraith  was  in  time  to  prevent  her  springing  out  of 
bed. 

"  I  know  I  am  mad,"  she  moaned  in  a  broken  voice.  "  I 
am  quite,  quite  mad  !  I  never  hurt  a  creature  in  my  life — never 
thought  an  evil  thought  of  anyone  ;  why  must  I  suffer  so  ? 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  3°5 

Father,  my  head."  Again  she  started  up.  "  Can't  you — 
can't  you  save  me  ?  "  she  shrieked.  "  Father,  my  head  !  my 
head  !  " 

Angelica  stole  away  to  her  own  room,  put  on  her  things,  and 
walked  back  to  Morne  alone. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  NGELICA  had  been  baptized  into  the  world  of  anguish. 
£\  She  had  assisted  at  horrid  mysteries  of  life  and  death,  and 
the  experience  was  likely  to  be  warping. 

She  had  fled  from  the  palace,  first,  because  she  could  not 
bear  the  place  any  longer,  and  secondly,  because  she  felt  imper 
atively  that  she  must  see  Diavolo.  He  had  been  in  bed  and 
asleep  for  some  time  when  she  went  to  his  room  that  night, 
and  awoke  him  by  flashing  a  light  in  his  face.  He  was  startled 
at  first,  but  when  he  saw  who  it  was,  he  remembered  their  last 
quarrel  and  the  base  way  she  had  deserted  him  by  going  to 
stay  at  the  palace,  and  he  thought  it  due  to  his  wounded  heart 
to  snap  at  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  disturbing  me  so  late  at  night  ?  "  he 
drawled  plaintively  ;  "  bringing  in  such  a  beastly  lot  of  fresh 
air  with  you  too.  You  make  me  shiver." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Diavolo,"  Angelica  answered.  "  You 
know  you're  delighted  to  see  me.  How  nice  you  look  with 
your  hair  all  tousled  !  I  wish  my  hair  was  fair  like  yours. 
Oh  !  I  have  such  a  lot  to  tell  you." 

"  Get  on  then,"  he  said,  lying  back  on  his  broad  white  pillows 
resignedly  ;  "  or  go  away,  and  keep  your  confidences  till 
to-morrow.  If  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  kindly  consult  my 
inclinations,  that  is  what  I  should  ask,"  he  added  politely. 

Angelica  curled  herself  up  on  the  end  of  his  bed,  and  leant 
against  the  foot-rail.  The  room  was  large  and  lofty,  and  the 
only  light  in  it  was  that  of  the  candle  which  she  still  held  in 
her  hand.  She  had  a  walking  jacket  on  over  an  evening  dress, 
and  a  hat,  but  this  she  took  off  and  threw  on  the  floor. 

"  I've  run  away,"  she  said.     *'  I  walked  home  all  alone.'* 

"What,  up  all  that  long  dark  hill!"  he  exclaimed,  with 
interest,  but  without  incredulity.  The  Heavenly  Twins  never 
lied  to  each  other. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  impressively,  "  and  I  cut  across  the 
pine  woods,  and  the  big  black  shadows  fluttered  about  me  like 


3°6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

butterfly  bogies,  and  I  wasn't  afraid.  I  threw  my  arms  about, 
and  ran,  and  jumped,  and  breathed 7  Oh  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
"after  holding  your  breath  for  twenty-four  hours,  in  a  house 
full  of  gaslight  and  groans,  you  learn  what  it  is  to  be  able  to 
breathe  freely  out  under  the  stars  in  the  blessed  dark.  And 
there  was  a  little  crescent  moon  above  the  trees,"  she  added. 

Diavolo  had  opened  his  great  gray  eyes,  and  looked  out  ovei 
her  head  through  the  wall  opposite,  watching  her  with  enthus 
iasm  as  she  "  cut  across  the  pine  woods."  "  And  how  did  you 
get  in  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  At  the  back,"  she  answered.  They  looked  into  each 
other's  intelligent  faces,  and  grinned.  "  Everybody  is  in  bed," 
she  added,  "  and  I'm  half  inclined  to  return  to  the  palace,  and 
come  back  to-morrow  in  the  carriage  properly." 

"  I  shouldn't  do  that,"  said  Diavolo,  feeling  that  such  a  pro 
ceeding  would  be  an  inartistic  anticlimax.  "  And  it's  to-mor 
row  now,  I  should  think."  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow, 
and  peered  at  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 

Angelica  held  up  the  candle.  "  It's  two,"  she  said.  "What 
do  you  do  when  you  first  wake  up  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  Turn  round  and  go  to  sleep  again,"  Diavolo  grunted. 

"/always  look  at  the  clock,"  said  Angelica.  "But  I  want 
to  tell  you.  You  know  after  you  said  I  was  a  cyclone  in  petti 
coats  ?  " 

Diavolo  nodded.     "  So  you  are,"  he  remarked. 

"  Well,  I  am,  then,"  Angelica  retorted.  "  Have  it  so,  only 
don't  interrupt  me.  I  can't  think  why  I  cared,"  she  added 
upon  reflection  ;  "  it  seems  so  little  now,  and  such  a  long  way 
off." 

"  Is  it  as  far  from  the  point  as  you  are  ?  "  Diavolo  courte 
ously  inquired. 

"Ah,  I'm  coming  to  that!"  she  resumed,  and  then  she 
graphically  recounted  her  late  painful  experiences,  including 
the  bishop's  charge  to  Sir  Mosley  Menteith,  and  poor  Edith's 
last  piteous  appeal  to  heaven  and  earth  for  the  relief  which 
she  was  not  to  receive. 

"And  did  she  die?"  Diavolo  asked  in  an  awestruck 
whisper. 

Being  less  sturdy  and  more  sensitive  than  Angelica,  he  was 
quite  shaken  by  the  bare  recital  of  such  suffering. 

"  Not  while  I  was  there,"  Angelica  answered.  "  I  heard  her 
as  I  came  out.  She  was  calling  on  God  then." 

They  were  both  silent  for  some  moments  after  this,     Angel- 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  307 

ica  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  candle,  and  Diavolo  looked  up  to 
the  unanswering  heaven,  full  of  the  vague  wonderment  which* 
asks  Why  ?  Why  ?  Why  ? 

"  There  is  no  law,  you  see/*  Angelica  resumed,  "  either  to 
protect  us  or  avenge  us.  That  is  because  men  made  the  law  for 
themselves,  and  that  is  why  women  are  righting  for  the  right 
to  make  laws  too." 

*'  I'll  help  them  !  "  Diavolo  exclaimed. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Angelica.  "  That's  right  !  Shake 
hands  \  " 

Having  solemnly  ratified  the  compact,  Angelica  boldly 
asserted  that  all  the  manly  men  were  helping  women  now, 
including  Uncle  Dawne  and  Dr.  Galbraith. 

Then  she  thought  she  would"  go  to  bed.  Of  course  she  had 
flung  the  door  wide  open  when  she  entered,  and  left  it  so, and  hap 
pening  to  glance  toward  it  now,  it  seemed  to  her  that  there  was 
a  horrible  peculiar  kind  of  pitchy  black  darkness  streaming  in. 

"  O  Diavolo  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I'm  frightened  !  I  daren't 
go  alone  ! " 

"  You  frightened  !  "  he  jeered,  "  after  dancing  home  alone  in 
the  dark,  through  the  pine  woods  too  !  " 

"There  were  only  birds,  beasts,  and  bogies  there — pleasant 
creatures,"  she  said.  "  But  here,  behind  those  rows  and  rows 
of  closed  doors,  there  will  be  ghosts  of  tortured  women,  and  I 
shall  hear  them  shriek  !  '* 

Her  terror  communicated  itself  to  Diavolo's  quick  imagina 
tion,  and  he  glanced  toward  the  door  apprehensively.  Then 
he  deliberately  arose,  put  on  his  dressing  gown  and  slippers^ 
and  lit  a  candle,  by  which  time  his  face  was  steadily  set. 
"  Come,"  he  said.  "  I'll  see  you  safely  to  your  room." 

"  Diavolo,  you're  a  real  gentleman  !  "  Angelica  protested, 
"  for  I  know  you're  in  as  big  a  fright  as  I  am." 

Diavolo  drew  himself  up  and  led  the  way. 

Their  rooms  were  far  apart,  it  having  been  deemed  advisable 
to  separate  them  when  they  first  came  to  the  castle,  at  which 
time  there  had  been  a  curious  delusion  that  distance  would  do 
this.  The  first  part  of  their  progress  that  night  was  nervous 
work,  but  they  had  not  gone  far  before  the  new  aspect  which 
familiar  things  took  on  by  the  light  of  their  candles  arrested 
their  attention. 

"  The  light  makes  great-grandpapa  wink,"  said  Angelica 
looking  up  at  a  portrait.  "  And  Venus  has  put  on  a  cloak." 

"  She's  wrapt  in  shadow"  said  Diavolo  poetically. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

They  were  talking  quite  unconcernedly  by  this  time,  and  in 
their  usual  somewhat  loud  tone  of  voice,  fear  of  discovery  not 
being  one  of  their  characteristics.  They  were  bound  to  have 
awakened  any  light  sleeper,  but  it  so  happened  that  they 
passed  no  occupied  rooms  but  their  Uncle  Dawne's.  He, 
however,  being  up,  heard  them,  and  opened  his  door  on  them 
suddenly.  They  both  jumped. 

"  What  are  you  two  doing?"  he  said  ;  "and  why  are  you 
here  at  all,  Angelica  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  think  it  delicate  to  stay  at  the  palace  any  longer 
under  the  circumstances,"  she  answered  glibly. 

Lord  Dawne  was  struck  by  the  extreme  propriety  of  this 
reply.  "  And  may  I  ask  when  you  returned  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yesterday,"  she  answered,  u  and  I've  had  nothing  to  eat 
since." 

"  Oh  !  "  he  observed.  "  And  you've  not  had  time  to  remove 
your  walking  jacket  either  ? "  He  looked  hard  at  her.  "  I 
should  like  very  much  to  know  how  you  got  in,"  he  said,  shak 
ing  his  head. 

The  Heavenly  Twins  looked  at  him  affably. 

"  Well,"  he  concluded,  knowing  better  than  to  question 
them — "  I  suppose  you  know  where  to  find  food,  if  that  is 
your  object  ! " 

They  both  grinned. 

"Come  along,  Uncle  Dawne,  and  we'll  show  you  !  "  Angelica 
burst  out  sociably. 

"  Yes,  do !  "  Diavolo  entreated.     "Come  and  revel !  " 

The  Heavenly  Twins  never  worked  on  any  regular  plan  ; 
their  ideas  always  came  to  them  as  they  went  on. 

Lord  Dawne  felt  that  this  was  really  claiming  a  kinship  with 
him,  and  a  picture  which  presented  itself  to  his  mind's  eye,  of 
Viimself  foraging  for  food  in  his  father's  castle  with  the 
Heavenly  Twins  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night,  appealed  to 
him.  It  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  lost. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  putting  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of 
the  short  velvet  jacket  he  was  wearing,  and  preparing  to  fol 
low.  The  twins  led  the  way,  holding  their  candles  aloft,  and 
descending  the  stairs  in  step.  But  exactly  what  the  mysteries 
were  into  which  they  initiated  their  uncle  that  night  nobody 
knows.  Only  they  were  all  very  late  for  breakfast  next  morn 
ing,  and  when  Lord  Dawne  saw  his  sisters,  he  listened  in 
silence  to  such  explanations  of  Angelica's  reappearance  at  the 
castle  as  they  were  able  to  offer. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  3°9 

Angelica  herself  forgot  she  was  not  at  home,  and  came  down 
to  breakfast  yawning  unconcernedly.  The  exclamation  of 
surprise  with  which  she  was  greeted  took  her  aback  at  first. 
She  had  intended  to  send  a  carriage,  early  in  the  morning,  for 
her  maid  Elizabeth,  and  to  walk  in  herself  with  her  hat  on 
when  it  returned,  as  if  she  had  come  in  it  ;  but  as  she  only 
remembered  this  intention  when  Lady  Fulda  exclaimed  "Why, 
Angelica,  how  did  you  come  ?  "  she  was  obliged  to  have  re 
course  to  the  simple  truth,  and  after  answering  blandly  :  "  I 
walked,  auntie,"  she  left  the  matter  there  for  others  to  eluci 
date  at  their  leisure  if  they  chose  to  make  inquiries. 

But  the  accustomed  trouble  with  the  Heavenly  Twins 
seemed  insignificant  at  this  time  compared  with  other  perplexi 
ties  which  were  pending  at  the  castle.  The  old  duke  had 
been  very  queer  lately.  He  had  "  been  dreaming  and  seeing 
things,"  as  Diavolo  explained  to  Angelica. 

"  Storms  and  what  dreams,  ye  holy  gods,  what  dreams  !  " 

Father  Ricardo  said  they  were  miraculous  temptations  of  the 
devil,  the  implication  being  that  the  poor  old  duke's  soul  was 
more  specially  worth  wrangling  for  than  those  of  less  exalted 
sinners.  The  one  dear  wish  of  Father  Ricardo's  life  was  to  be 
mixed  up  in  something  miraculous.  He  was  too  humble  to 
expect  anything  to  be  revealed  to  himself  personally,  but  he 
had  great  hopes  of  the  saintly  Lady  Fulda  ;  and  certainly,  if 
concessions  are  to  be  wrung  from  the  Infinite  to  the  Finite  by 
perfect  holiness  of  life  and  mind,  she  should  have  obtained 
some.  She  had  become  deeply  read  in  that  kind  of  lore  under 
Father  Ricardo's  direction,  and  had  meditated  so  much  about 
occurrences  of  the  kind  that  it  would  not  have  surprised  her 
if  she  had  met  "  Our  Lady  "  anywhere,  bright  light,  blue  cloak, 
supernatural  beauty,  indefinite  draperies,  lilies,  sacred  heart, 
and  all.  She  had,  in  fact,  thought  too  much  about  it,  and  was 
becoming  somewhat  hysterical,  which  raised  Father  Ricardo's 
hopes,  for  he  was  not  a  scientific  man,  and  knew  nothing  of 
the  natural  history  of  the  human  being  and  of  hysteria ;  and. 
besides,  by  dint  of  long  watching,  fasting,  and  otherwise  out 
raging  what  he  believed  to  have  been  created  in  the  image  of 
God,  viz.,  his  own  poor  body,  and  also  by  the  feverish  fervour 
with  which  he  entreated  Heaven  to  vouchsafe  them  a  revelation 
at  Morne  for  the  benefit  of  Holy  Church,  he  was  worn  to  a 
shadow,  and  had  become  somewhat  hysterical  himself.  The 
twins  had  discovered  him  on  his  knees  before  the  altar  in  the 
chapel  at  night,  and  had  been  much  interested  in  the  "  vain 


310  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

repetitions "  and  other  audible  ejaculations  which  he  was 
offering  up  with  many  contortions  of  his  attenuated  form. 

"  Isn't  he  enjoying  himself  ?  "  Diavolo  whispered. 

"  He  must  be  in  training  to  wrestle  with  the  devil  when  they 
meet,"  Angelica  surmised. 

But  all  this  was  having  a  bad  effect  upon  the  old  duke.  In 
private,  he  and  Lady  Fulda  and  the  priest  talked  of  nothing 
but  apparitions  and  supernatural  occurrences  generally.  Lord 
Dawne  had  obtained  a  hint  of  what  was  going  on  from  some 
chance  observations  of  the  Heavenly  Twins,  but  until  the  day 
after  Angelica's  return  from  the  palace  neither  his  father  nor 
sister  had  spoken  to  him  on  the  subject. 

That  morning,  however,  he  happened  to  go  into  the  chapel 
to  see  how  the  colours  were  lasting  in  some  decorative  work 
which  he  had  done  there  himself  years  before,  and  there  he 
found  his  father  standing  in  the  aisle  to  the  right  of  the  altar 
near  the  door  of  the  sacristy,  gazing  up  fixedly  at  a  particular 
panel  in  the  dark  oakwork  which  covered  that  portion  of  the 
wall. 

"  Anything  wrong,  father?  "  he  said,  going  up  to  him. 

"  Dawne,"  the  old  duke  replied  in  an  undertone,  touching 
his  son's  arm  with  the  point  of  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand, 
and  pointing  up  to  the  panel  with  the  stick  he  held  in  his  right : 
"  Dawne,  if  it  were  not  for  what  that  panel  conceals — "  he 
ended  by  folding  his  hands  on  the  top  of  his  stick,  looking 
down  at  the  pavement,  and  shaking  his  head.  "  I  saw  it  in  a 
dream  first,"  he  resumed,  looking  up  at  the  panel.  "But  now 
it  appears  during  every  service.  It  comes  out.  It  stretches 
its  baby  hands  to  me.  It  sobs,  it  sighs,  it  begs,  it  prays  ;  and 
sometimes  it  smiles,  and  then  there  are  dimples  about  its  inno 
cent  mouth." 

Some  disturbance  of  the  atmosphere  caused  Lord  Dawne  to 
look  round  at  this  moment,  although  he  had  heard  nothing,  and 
he  was  startled  to  find  his  sister  Fulda  standing  behind  him, 
looking  as  awestruck  as  the  duke. 

"  We  must  tear  down  that  panel !  "  the  old  man  exclaimed, 
becoming  excited.  "  We  must  exorcise,  and  purify,  and  cleanse 
the  house.  It  is  that — that  " — shaking  his  stick  at  the  panel — 
"which  hinders  the  Event !  Bury  it  deep  !  bury  it  deep  !  give 
it  the  holy  rites,  and  then  !  "  His  voice  dropped.  He  muttered 
something  inaudible,  and  walked  feebly  down  the  aisle. 

Lady  Fulda  followed  him  out  of  the  chapel,  but  presently  she 
returned.  Her  brother  was  still  standing  as  she  had  left  him, 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS.  311 

looking  now  at  the  pavement  and  now  at  the  panel,  and  deep 
in  thought.  His  grave  face  lighted  with  tenderness  as  he  turned 
to  meet  her.  She  was  very  pale. 

"  I  am  afraid  all  this  is  too  much  for  you,  Fulda,"  he  said 
seriously. 

"  No.  This  is  nothing,"  she  answered.  "  Nothing — no 
human  excitement  ever  disturbs  me.  But,  Dawne,  I  have  seen 
//  myself !  " 

"It!     What,  Fulda?" 

"The  Child — just  as  he  describes  it.     It  appears  there  "- 
looking  up  at  the  panel — "  and  stretches  out  its  little  hands  to 
me  smiling,  but  when  I  move  to  take  it,  it  is  gone  !  " 

"  My  dear  Fulda,"  Lord  Dawne  replied,  with  a  shiver  which 
he  attributed  to  the  chill  of  the  chapel,  "people  who  live  in 
such  an  atmosphere  as  you  do  are  liable  to  see  things  /" 

"  It  would  ease  my  mind,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  on 
his  shoulder,  and  laying  her  cheek  upon  them  :  "  it  would  ease 
my  mind  if  that  panel  were  removed.  There  is  something 
behind  it." 

"  It  must  be  solid  masonry  then,"  he  answered,  smiling  ; 
and,  stepping  up  to  the  panel,  he  tapped  it  hard  with  his 
knuckles  ;  but,  contrary  to  his  expectations,  the  sound  it 
emitted  was  somewhat  hollow.  Then  he  examined  it  carefully, 
and  discovered  that  it  was  not  fitted  into  grooves  as  the  other 
panels  were,  but  was  held  in  its  place  by  four  screws,  the  heads 
of  which  had  been  carefully  concealed  by  put^y,  stained  and 
varnished  to  the  color  of  the  oak.  "  I  will  see  about  this  at 
once,"  he  said. 

The  message  from  the  palace  that  morning,  sent  by  Mrs. 
Orton  Beg,  had  been:  "  Edith  still  lingers,"  and  Lord  Dawne 
had  intended  to  go  there  to  see  the  bishop  (in  times  of  sick 
ness  and  sorrow  he  was  everywhere  welcome) ;  but  now  he 
went  with  the  further  intention  of  finding  Dr.  Galbraith.  In 
this  he  was  successful,  and  they  had  a  long  talk  about  the  state 
of  affairs  at  the  castle,  and  it  was  finally  arranged  that  Dr. 
Galbraith  should  dine  there  that  evening  and  remain  for  the 
night. 

"  That  panel  must  be  removed,1'  he  said,  "and  it  should  be 
done  with  great  ceremony.  The  best  time  would  be  midnight. 
But  leave  all  that  to  Father  Ricardo,  and  only  insist  upon  one 
thing,  and  that  is  the  presence  of  the  Heavenly  Twins." 

"  Are  you  meditating  a  coup  de  thtdtre  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all,  '  Dr,  Galbraith  replied.     "  Only  I  am  quite 


312  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

sure  that  if  there  is  any  exorcism  to  be  done,  the  Heavenly 
Twins  will  accomplish  it  better  than  any  priest." 

Lord  Dawne,  however,  remained  somewhat  uncertain  about 
the  wisdom  of  this  recommendation,  but  as  Dr.  Galbraith  had 
always  managed  his  father's  foibles  and  other  difficult  matters 
at  the  castle  with  admirable  tact  and  delicacy  he  gave  in. 

The  twins  themselves  soon  perceived  that  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  air.  During  the  day  several  strange  priests  arrived, 
all  looking  more  or  less  important  ;  but  they  did  not  dine  with 
the  duke.  The  demeanour  of  the  latter  was  portentously 
solemn ;  Diavolo  tried  to  take  him  out  of  himself,  but  was 
reproved  for  his  levity  ;  and  Father  Ricardo  and  Lady  Fulda 
went  about  with  exalted  expressions  of  countenance,  and  look 
ing  greatly  in  need  of  food  and  rest.  Even  in  the  early  part  of 
the  evening  nobody  talked  much,  and  as  the  hours  dragged  on 
slowly  toward  midnight,  the  silence  in  the  castle  became 
oppressive.  The  servants  stole  about  on  tiptoe,  and  in  pairs, 
being  nervous  about  going  into  the  big  empty  rooms,  and  down 
the  long  shadowy  corridors  alone.  There  was,  besides,  a 
general  inclination  to  glance  about  furtively,  as  the  hush  of 
anxious  expectancy  settled  upon  everybody.  The  twins  felt  it 
themselves,  but  they  were  everywhere  all  the  same,  and  if  any 
particular  preparations  had  been  made,  it  would  have  been  at 
the  risk  of  their  discovering  them.  The  night  was  sultry  and 
very  dark.  Dr.  Galbraith  and  Lord  Dawne  stood  together, 
stirring  their  coffee,  at  an  open  window  in  the  great  drawing 
room. 

"  It  is  curiously  still,"  said  Lord  Dawne,  looking  out.  "  It 
reminds  me  of  the  legend  of  Nature  waiting  breathless  for  the 
happy  release  of  an  imprisoned  soul.  I  wonder  how  that  poor 
child  Edith  is  !  " 

"I  would  give — I  would  give  anything  that  anybody  could 
name,"  Dr.  Galbraith  said  slowly,  "  to  be  quite  sure  that  she 
would  pass  into  peace  to-night." 

"  Ah,  poor  girl !  poor  innocent  girl  !  "  Lord  Dawne  ejacu 
lated  ;  and  then  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself  :  "  How  long, 
O  Lord,  how  long  ?  We  are  so  powerless  ;  we  accomplish  so 
little  ;  the  great  sum  of  suffering  never  seems  lessened,  do  what 
we  will !  " 

They  were  silent  for  some  time  after  that,  each  occupied 
with  painful  thoughts,  and  then  Dr.  Galbraith  spoke  with  an 
effort  to  change  the  direction  of  them. 

"  A  storm  to-night  would  be  most  opportune,"  he  said. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  313 

"  But  things  of  that  kind  never  do  happen  opportunely," 
Lord  Dawne  rejoined.  Just  as  he  spoke,  however,  a  brilliant 
flash  of  lightning  lit  up  vividly  the  precipitous  side  of  the  hill 
and  the  whole  valley  beneath  them  for  a  moment. 

"  Let  us  hope  it  is  a  happy  omen,"  said  Dr.  Galbraith. 

Toward  midnight,  the  various  members  of  the  household 
who  were  privileged  to  be  present  at  the  coming  ceremony 
began  to  assemble  in  the  chapel  ;  but  the  very  first  to  arrive 
found  that  the  Heavenly  Twins  were  before  them,  and  had 
secured  the  best  seats  for  seeing  and  hearing.  The  chapel  was 
dim  and  even  dark  at  the  corners  and  at  the  farther  end,  there 
being  no  light  except  from  the  candles  which  were  burning 
upon  the  altar.  Four  priests  were  kneeling  before  it  at  the 
rails,  and  a  fifth  came  out  of  the  sacristy  presently,  and  passed 
in.  It  was  Father  Ricardo,  and  as  he  made  the  genuflection, 
it  was  seen  that  his  face  was  irradiated  by  profound  emotion. 
He  remained  on  his  knees  before  the  altar  for  some  moments, 
then  he  arose,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  chapel  glowed  in 
every  colour  of  the  prism.  It  was  merely  the  play  of  the  light 
ning  through  the  stained  glass  windows,  but  the  unexpected 
effect,  combined  with  the  electricity  in  the  atmosphere  and  the 
tension  of  expectancy,  wrought  upon  the  nerves  of  all  present. 

The  Heavenly  Twins  snuggled  up  close  to  each  other.  Lady 
Fulda-s  lips  began  to  move  rapidly  in  fervent  prayer.  Angelica 
noticed  this,  and  as  she  watched  her  aunt,  her  own  lips  began 
to  move  in  imitation,  either  involuntarily  or  in  order  to  see  if 
she  could  work  them  as  fast. 

But  now  the  attention  of  all  present  became  riveted  upon  the 
priests.  Father  Ricardo  descended  the  altar  steps,  and  two  of 
the  others  followed  him  into  the  sacristy.  They  returned  in 
the  same  order,  but  Father  Ricardo  was  carrying  a  basin  of  holy 
water  and  an  aspergillus,  with  which  he  proceeded  to  sprinkle 
all  present,  murmuring  some  inaudible  adjuration  the  while. 
One  of  the  strange  priests  held  an  open  book,  and  the  other 
carried  some  common  carpenter's  tools.  During  this  interval 
the  lightning  flashed  again,  and  was  seen  to  play  about  the 
chapel  in  fantastic  figures  before  the  black  darkness  engulfed 
it.  A  long  irregular  roll  of  distant  thunder  succeeded,  and 
then,  after  a  perceptible  pause,  there  was  a  sound  as  of  hun 
dreds  of  little  feet  pattering  upon  the  roof.  They  were  the 
advanced  guard  of  rain  drops  heralding  the  approaching  storm, 
and  halted  instantly,  while  the  air  in  the  chapel  became  per 
ceptibly  colder,  and  Dr.  Galbraith  himself  began  to  experience 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

sensations  which  made  him  fear  it  would  have  been  wiser  if  a 
less  appropriate  time  had  been  chosen  to  lay  the  ghost. 

The  priest  now  approached  the  panel,  upon  one  corner  of 
which  a  ray  of  light  from  the  altar  fell  obliquely.  Father 
Ricardo  sprinkled  it  liberally  from  where  he  stood  on  the 
ground,  repeating  some  formula  as  he  did  so,  and  then  mounted 
a  small  pair  of  steps  which  had  been  placed  there  for  the  pur 
pose,  and  began  to  search  for  the  screws.  As  he  found  them, 
he  cut  out  the  hard  putty  that  concealed  them  with  a  knife 
which  one  of  the  priests  had  handed  up  to  him  for  the  purpose, 
and  when  he  had  accomplished  this  he  exchanged  the  knife  for 
a  screwdriver,  and  endeavoured  to  turn  the  screws  ;  but  this 
required  more  strength  than  his  ill-treatment  of  his  poor  body 
had  left  in  it,  and  he  was  obliged  to  relinquish  the  task  to  one 
o/  the  other  priests.  The  two  who  had  hitherto  knelt  at  the 
altar  now  joined  the  group  in  front  of  the  panel.  All  five 
looked  unhealthy  and  frightened,  but  the  one  who  next  as 
cended  the  steps  made  a  brave  effort,  and  began  to  remove  the 
screws.  He  was  a  muscular  man,  but  it  was  hard  work,  requir 
ing  his  full  strength  ;  and  those  present  held  their  breath,  and 
anxiously  watched  him  straining  every  sinew.  And  meanwhile 
the  storm  gathered  overhead,  the  lightning  and  thunder  flashed 
and  crashed  almost  simultaneously,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents. 

Having  removed  the  screws,  the  priest  descended  the  steps, 
which  he  pushed  on  one  side,  and  inserting  the  screwdriver 
into  a  crevice,  prised  the  panel  outward.  It  resisted  for  some 
time,  then,  suddenly  yielding,  fell  forward  on  his  head,  and 
crashed  noisily  to  the  ground.  All  present  started  and  stared. 
The  panel  had  concealed  an  aperture,  a  small  niche  rudely 
made  by  simply  removing  some  of  the  masonry.  It  was  long 
and  low,  and  there  lay  in  it  what  was  unmistakably  the  body 
of  a  young  child  fully  dressed.  The  priests  fell  back,  Lady 
Fulda's  parted  lips  became  set  in  the  act  of  uttering  a  word, 
the  duke  groaned  aloud,  while  an  expression  of  not  being  able 
to  believe  their  own  eyes  settled  upon  the  countenances  of 
Lord  Dawne,  Dr.  Galbraith,  and  the  tutor,  Mr.  Ellis. 

After  the  fall  of  the  panel  there  was  a  pause,  during  xvhich 
the  very  storm  seemed  to  wait  in  suspense.  Nobody  knew 
what  to  do  next.  But  before  they  had  recovered  themselves, 
Angelica  broke  the  silence  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

"  You  pushed  me  !  "  she  angrily  exclaimed, 

"  I  did  not  \  "  Diavolo  retorted, 

"  You  did!" 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  3*5 

"I  didn't!" 

Smack!  And  Miss  Hamilton-Wells  stood  trembling  with 
rage  in  the  aisle.  Then  she  darted  toward  the  aperture.  The 
priests  fell  back.  "I  believe  it's  all  a  trick,"  she  said,  reaching 
up  and  seizing  the  child  by  its  petticoats.  Lady  Fulda  uttered 
an  exclamation  :  the  duke  stood  up,  Angelica  tugged  the 
figure  out  of  the  niche,  looked  at  it,  and  then  held  it  to  the 
light. 

It  was  a  huge  wax  baby-doll,  considerably  battered,  which 
had  once  been  a  favourite  of  her  own.  Diavolo  came  out  of  his 
seat,  hugging  himself,  and  bursting  in  eloquent  silence. 

Father  Ricardo  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face,  Lord 
Dawne  bit  his  under  lip,  Lady  Fulda  gathered  herself  up  from 
her  knees,  and  stood  helpless.  Everybody  looked  foolish, 
including  the  duke,  whose  eyebrows  contracted  nervously  ; 
then  suddenly  that  treacherous  memory  of  his  landed  him  back 
in  the  old  days.  "By  Jove  !  "  he  exclaimed  aloud,  "  I'm  more 
like  Angelica,  and  less  of  a  damned  fool  than  I  thought  !  " 

"Come,  Diavolo  !  this  is  no  place  for  us  !  "    Angelica  cried. 

She  seized  his  hand,  and  they  both  darted  into  the  sacristy. 

There  was  a  bang,  a  scuffle,  and  then  a  dull  thud  ;  but  the 
first  to  follow  was  only  in  time  to  see  eight  finger-tips  clinging 
for  a  moment  outside  to  the  ledge  of  one  of  the  narrow  win 
dows,  which  was  open. 

"They've  jumped  out!"  "It's  fourteen  feet  !"  "Hush, 
listen  ! " 

And  then  the  congregation  scattered  hurriedly  from  the 
sacred  precincts,  leaving  the  candles  burning  on  the  altar,  the 
doll  lying  on  the  pavement,  the  gaping  niche  and  the  fallen 
panel  to  bear  witness  to  some  of  the  incredible  phases  through 
which  the  human  race  passes  on  its  way  from  incomprehensi 
ble  nothingness  to  the  illimitable  unknown. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  Heavenly  Twins  had  disappeared  for  the  night. 
Those  who  ran  round  to  the  outside  wall  of  the  sacristy 
to  look  for  them  found  only  a  shred  of  Angelica's  gown  hang 
ing  on  a  shrub.  Their  footsteps  could  be  followed  cutting 
across  the  grass  of  a  soppy  lawn,  but  beyond  that  was  a  walk  of 
hard  asphalt,  and  there  all  trace  of  them  was  lost.  But  Lady 
Fulda  said  they  must  be  found,  and  brought  back ;  and  sleepy 


3i6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

servants  were  accordingly  aroused  and  set  to  search  the 
grounds,  while  grooms  were  sent  off  on  horseback  to  scour  the 
lanes.  The  storm  was  still  muttering  in  the  distance,  but  above 
Morne  the  sky  had  cleared,  and  the  crescent  moon  shone  out 
to  facilitate  the  search.  It  was  quite  fruitless,  however.  From 
Morne  to  Morningquest  the  messengers  went,  passing  back 
ward  and  forward  from  the  castle  the  whole  night  long. 
Lady  Fulda  never  closed  her  eyes,  and  when  the  party  assem 
bled  at  breakfast  next  morning  they  were  all  suffering  from 
want  of  sleep. 

^The  duke,  Lord  Dawne,  Dr.  Galbraith,  Mr.  Ellis,  Father 
Ricardo  and  the  four  strange  priests  were  at  table. 

"What  can  have  become  of  those  children?"  Lady  Fulda 
was  exclaiming  for  the  hundredth  time,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  the  twins  themselves  appeared  hand  in  hand,  smiling 
affably. 

They  looked  as  fresh  as  usual,  and  began  to  perform  their 
morning  salutations  with  their  habitual  self-possession. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  the  duke  asked  sternly. 

"In  bed,  of  course,"  Angelica  answered — "till  we  got  up, 
at  least.  Where  else  should  we  be  ?  "  She  looked  round  in 
innocent  inquiry. 

"We  just  ran  round  to  the  garden  door,  you  know,"  Diavolo 
explained,  "  and  went  to  bed.  You  couldn't  expect  us  to  stay 
out  on  a  dripping  night  like* that  !" 

Lord  Dawne  afterward  expressed  the  feeling  of  the  whole 
household  when  he  declared  :  "  Well,  it  never  did  and  it  never 
would  have  occurred  to  me  to  look  for  them  in  their  own 
rooms." 

He  remained  behind  with  them  in  the  breakfast  room  that 
morning  when  the  others  withdrew. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  be  sent  for  directly,"  said  Angelica 
resignedly. 

Diavolo  grinned. 

"  I  say,  how  did  you  feel  last  night  when  it  was  all  going 
on  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Awfully  nice,"  he  rejoined.  "  I  had  little  warm  shivers  all 
over  me." 

"So  had  I,"  she  said,  "like  small  electric  shocks;  and  I 
believed  in  the  ghost  and  everything.  I  expect  that  is  why 
that  kind  of  supernatural  business  is  kept  up,  because  it  makes 
people  feel  creepy  and  nice.  You  can't  get  the  same  sensation 
in  any  other  way,  and  I  dare  say  there  are  lots  of  people  who 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  31) 

wouldn't  like  to  lose  a  whole  set  of  sensations.  I  should  think 
they're  the  kind  of  people  who  collect  the  remains  of  a  language 
to  save  it  when  it  begins  to  die  out." 

"  I  should  say  those  were  intelligent  people,"  her  uncle 
observed.  Angelica  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  /  should  like  to  believe  in  ghosts,"  said 
Diavolo. 

"  So  should  I,"  said  Angelica,  "  in  fun,  you  know ;  and  I 
was  thinking  so  last  night ;  but  then  I  could  not  help  noticing 
what  a  fool  Aunt  Fulda  was  making  of  herself,  and  grandpapa 
looked  such  a  precious  old  idiot  too.  They  weren't  enjoying 
it  a  bit.  You  were  the  only  one  of  the  family,  Uncle  Dawne, 
who  believed  and  looked  dignified." 

"  Who  told  you  I  believed  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  sure  that  you  did,"  Angelica  answered. 
"  But  at  all  events,  your  demeanour  was  respectful — hence  the 
dignity,  perhaps  !  " 

u  If  yours  were  a  little  more  respectful  you  would  gain  in 
dignity  too,  I  imagine,"  Diavolo  observed. 

Angelica  boxed  his  ears  promptly,  whereupon  her  uncle  took 
her  to  task  with  unusual  severity  for  him  :  "  You  are  quite 
grown  up  now,"  he  said.  "  You  talk  like  a  mature  woman,  and 
act  like  a  badly  brought  up  child  of  ten.  You  are  always 
doing  something  ridiculous  too.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  have 
you  at  my  house." 

Angelica  looked  amazed.  "  Well,  it  is  your  fault  as  much 
as  anybody's,"  she  burst  out  when  she  had  recovered  herself. 
"  Why  don't  you  make  me  something  of  a  life  ?  You  can't 
expect  me  to  go  on  like  this  forever — getting  up  in  the  morn 
ing,  riding,  driving,  lessons,  dressing,  and  bed.  It's  the  life  of 
a  lapdog." 

She  got  up,  and  going  to  one  of  the  windows,  which  was 
open,  leant  out.  Dawne  and  Diavolo  followed  her.  As  the 
former  approached,  she  turned  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face 
for  an  answer. 

"  You  will  marry  eventually "  he  began. 

"  Like  poor  Edith  ? "  she  suggested.  Dawne  compressed 
his  lips.  "That  was  her  ideal,"  Angelica  proceeded — "her 
own  home  and  husband  and  family,  someone  to  love  and  trust 
and  look  up  to.  She  told  me  all  about  it  at  Fountain  Towers 
under  the  influence  of  indignation  and  strong  tea.  And  she 
was  an  exquisite  womanly  creature  !  No,  thank  you  !  It  isn't 
safe  to  be  an  an  exquisite  womanly  creature  in  this  rotten  world* 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

\  The  most  useful  kind  of  heart  for  a  woman  is  one  hard  enough 
to  crack  nuts  with.  Nobody  could  wring  it  then." 

"You  would  lose  all  finer  feeling "  Lord  Davvne  began. 

"  Including  the  heartache  itself,"  she  supplemented. 

''But  what  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"An  object,"  she  answered.  "Something!  something! 
something  beyond  the  mere  getting  up  in  the  morning  and 
going  to  bed  at  night,  with  an  interval  of  exercise  between.  I 
want  to  do  something  for  somebody  !  " 

Lord  Dawne  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly.  He  had  no  idea 
that  such  a  notion  had  ever  entered  her  head. 

At  this  point,  a  servant  was  sent  by  his  Grace  to  request  the 
twins  to  be  so  good  as  to  go  to  him  in  the  library  at  once. 

"It  is  the  inevitable  inquiry,"  Angelica  said  resignedly. 
"Come  with  us,  uncle,  do"  she  coaxed.  "It  is  sure  to  be 
fun!" 

Lord  Dawne  consented. 

On  the  way,  Diavolo  remarked  ambiguously :  "  But  I  don't 
understand  yet  how  there  came  to  be  a  ghost  as  well !  " 

The  inquiry  led  to  nothing.  The  Heavenly  Twins  had 
determined  not  to  incriminate  themselves,  and  they  refused  to 
answer  a  question.  They  stood  together,  drawn  up  in  line, 
with  their  hands  behind  their  backs  ;  changed  from  one  leg  to 
the  other  when  they  were  tired,  and  looked  exceedingly  bored  ; 
but  they  would  no.  speak. 

The  duke  stormed,  Lady  Fulda  entreated,  Father  Ricardo 
prayed,  even  Lord  Dawne  begged  them  not  to  be  obstinate  ; 
but  it  was  all  in  vain,  and  their  grandfather,  losing  all  patience, 
ordered  them  out  of  the  room  at  last. 

As  they  retired,  Diavolo  asked  Father  Ricardo  if  he  were 
thinking  of  thumbscrews. 

"I  feel  quite  sure  that  Angelica  did  not  know  the  doll  was 
there,"  Lord  Dawne  said  when  the  twins  had  gone.  "  I  fancy 
it  was  a  trick  Diavolo  had  played  her." 

Nobody  mentioned  the  ghost  again.  It  was  felt  to  be  a 
delicate  subject.  Lady  Fulda  was  made  to  take  rest  and  a 
tonic,  the  duke  was  rigidly  dieted,  and  Father  Ricardo  was 
sent  away  for  change  of  air.  But  the  twins  never  ceased  from 
troubling.  As  soon  as  the  duke's  temper  was  restored,  they 
consulted  the  party  collectively  at  afternoon  tea  in  the  oriel 
room  on  the  subject  of  Angelica's  dissatisfaction.  Diavolo 
affected  to  share  it,  but  that  was  only  by  way  of  being  agreeable, 
as  he  inadvertently  betrayed. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  319 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  do  something  myself,"  he  drawled 
in  his  lazy  way. 

"I  should  think  marriage  is  the  best  profession  for  you  !  " 
said  Angelica  scornfully. 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  consider  the  question,"  Diavolo 
answered. 

He  was  lying  on  the  floor  in  his  habitual  attitude,  with  his 
head  on  the  windowsill,  beaming  about  him  blandly. 

"  The  army  is  the  only  possible  profession  for  a  gentleman 
in  your  position,"  the  duke  observed. 

"  Ah  !  that  would  not  meet  my  views  at  present,"  Diavolo 
rejoined.  "  I  am  advised  that  the  army  is  not  a  career  for  a 
man.  It  is  a  career  for  a  machine — for  a  machine  with  a  talent 
for  converting  other  men  into  machines,  and  I  haven't  the 
talent.  I  suppose,  if  Uncle  Dawne  won't  marry,  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  go  into  the  House  of  Lords  eventually  ;  but,  in  the 
meantime,  I  should  like  to  be  doing  some  good  in  the  world." 

"You  might  go  into  Parliament,"  his  uncle  suggested. 

"Ah,  no!"  Diavolo  answered  seriously.  "  I  should  never 
dream  of  undertaking  any  of  the  actual  work  of  the  world 
while  there  are  plenty  of  good  women  to  do  it  for  me.  My 
modest  idea  was  to  be  a  musician,  or  philanthropic  lecturer,  or 
artist  of  some  kind — something  that  gives  pleasure,  you  know, 
and  the  proceeds  to  be  devoted  to  the  indigent." 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  belong  to  the  peace  party  ?"  said  the  duke. 

"  I  am  a  peace  party  myself,"  Diavolo  answered.  "Anybody 
who  has  lived  as  long  with  Angelica  as  I  have  would  be  that— 
if  he  were  not  a  party  in  pieces." 

"  I  admire  your  wit  !  "  said  Angelica  sarcastically. 

Diavolo  bestowed  a  grateful  smile  upon  her. 

"But  everything  is  easy  enough  for  a  man  of  intellect,"  "she 
went  on,  "  whatever  his  position.  It  is  our  powers  that  are 
wasted." 

"  Vanity  !  vanity  !  "  said  Lady  Fulda.  "  Why  do  you  sup 
pose  that  your  abilities  are  superior  ?" 

"  I  can  prove  that  they  are  !  "  Angelica  answered  hotly. 
Then  suddenly  her  spirits  went  up,  and  she  began  to  be  so 
ciable. 

For  a  few  days  after  this  the  Heavenly  Twins  appeared  to  be 
very  busy.  They  both  wrote  a  great  deal,  and  also  practised 
regularly  on  their  violins  and  the  piano;  and  they  made  some 
mysterious  expeditions,  slipping  away  unattended  into  Morn- 
ingquest.  It  was  suspected  that  they  had  something  serious  on 


320  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

hand,  but  Father  Ricardo  being  away,  the  spy-system  was  sus 
pended,  so  nobody  knew.  One  morning,  however,  big  placards, 
which  had  been  printed  in  London,  appeared  on  every  hoarding 
in  Morningquest,  announcing  in  the  largest  type  that  Miss 
Hamilton-Wells  and  Mr.  Theodore  Hamilton-Wells  would 
give  an  entertainment  in  the  Theatre  for  the  benefit  of  certain 
of  the  city  charities,  which  were  specified.  The  programme 
opened  with  music,  which  was  to  be  followed  by  a  speech  from 
Mr.  Theodore  Hamilton-Wells,  and  to  conclude  with  a  mono 
logue,  entitled  "  The  Condemned  Cell,"  to  be  delivered  by  Miss 
Hamilton-Wells,  who  had  written  it  specially  for  the  occasion. 
This  was  the  news  which  greeted  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  and 
Lady  Adeline  upon  their  return  from  their  voyage  round  the 
world;  and,  like  everybody  else,  when  they  first  saw  the  placard, 
which  was  as  they  drove  from  the  station  through  Morningquest 
to  the  castle,  they  exclaimed  :  "  Who  on  earth  is  Mr.  Theodore 
Hamilton-Wells  ?  " 

The  old  duke  was  rather  taken  with  the  idea  of  the  enter 
tainment.  It  was  something  quite  in  the  manner  of  his  youth, 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  inopportune  arrival  of  his  son- 
in-law  and  daughter,  the  Heavenly  Twins  would  probably  have 
carried  out  their  programme  under  his  distinguished  patronage. 
Dr.  Galbraith  was  all  in  favour  of  letting  them  do  it,  Lord 
Dawne  was  neutral;  but  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  objected.  He 
caused  the  announcement  to  be  cancelled,  and  handsomely 
indemnified  the  various  charities  named  to  be  recipients  of  the 
possible  proceeds. 

Diavolo  did  not  much  mind.  He  was  prepared  to  do  all 
that  Angelica  required  of  him,  but  when  the  necessity  was 
removed  he  acknowledged  that  it  would  have  been  rather  a 
bore,  and  afterward  spoke  disrespectfully  of  the  whole  project 
as  "  The  Condemned  Sell." 

Angelica  raged. 

But  the  energy  which  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  had  collected  dur 
ing  his  travels  was  not  yet  expended.  He  summoned  a  family 
council  at  Morne  to  sit  upon  the  twins,  and  having  tried  them 
in  their  absence  they  were  sent  for  to  be  sentenced  without  the 
option  of  appeal.  Angelica  was  to  be  presented  at  Court  and 
otherwise  "brought  out"  in  proper  splendour  immediately; 
while,  with  a  view  to  going  into  the  Guards  eventually,  Diavolo 
was  to  be  sent  to  Sandhurst,  as  soon  as  he  had  passed  the 
necessary  examinations,  about  which  Mr.  Ellis  said  there  would 
be  no  difficulty  if  Diavolo  chose. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  321 

Diavolo  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  that  he  didn't 
mind. 

Angelica  said  nothing,  but  her  brow  contracted.  Diavolo's 
indifference  was  putting  an  end  to  everything.  It  was  not 
that  she  had  any  actual  objection  to  going  to  Court  and  coming 
out,  but  only  to  the  way  in  which  the  arrangement  had  been 
made — to  the  coercion  in  fact.  She  was  too  shrewd,  however, 
not  to  perceive  that,  in  consequence  of  Diavolo's  attitude,  rebel 
lion  on  her  part  would  be  both  undignified  and  ineffectual.  So 
she  held  her  peace,  and  went  to  walk  off  her  irritation  in  the 
grounds  alone;  and  there  she  encountered  her  fast  friend  of 
many  years'  standing,  Mr.  Kilroy  of  Ilverthorpe,  who  was  just 
riding  in  to  lunch  at  the  castle.  When  he  saw  her  he  dis 
mounted,  and  Angelica  snatched  the  whip  from  his  hand,  and 
clenching  her  teeth  gave  the  horse  a  vicious  slash  with  it,  which 
set  him  off  at  a  gallop  into  the  woods. 

Mr.  Kilroy  let  him  go,  but  he  was  silent  for  some  seconds, 
and  then  he  asked  her  in  his  peculiarly  kindly  way:  "  What  is 
the  matter,  Angelica  ?  " 

"  Marry  me  !  "  said  Angelica,  stamping  her  foot  at  him — 
"  Marry  me,  and  let  me  do  as  I  like  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

EVADNE  spent  eighteen  months  in  Malta  without  going 
from  the  island  for  a  change,  but  at  the  end  of  her 
second  cold  season  she  went  to  Switzerland  with  the  Malcom- 
sons  and  Sillingers,  and  Colonel  Colquhoun  went  on  leave  at 
the  same  time  alone  to  some  place  which  he  vaguely  described 
as  "The  Continent." 

When  they  met  again,  Evadne  noticed  a  change  in  him,  and 
she  feared  it  was  a  change  for  the  worse.  He  was  out  of 
health,  out  of  temper,  and  depressed. 

He  had  spent  most  of  his  leave  at  Monte  Carlo,  but  he  did 
not  say  so  at  first ;  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  question  him. 
Had  she  done  so  he  would  have  said  something  snappy  about 
feminine  curiosity;  as  she  did  not  do  so,  he  lost  his  temper, 
went  off  to  the  mess,  and  drank  too  much. 

It  is  a  terrible  thing  for  a  man  to  be  brought  into  constant 
association  with  a  woman  who  never  does  anything — in  a  small 
way — that  he  can  carp  at,  or  says  a  word  he  can  contradict. 
She  robs  him  of  all  his  most  cherished  illusions  ;  she  shakes 


322  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S. 

his  confidence  in  his  own  infallible  strength,  discernment, 
knowledge,  judgment,  and  superiority  generally  ;  she  outrages 
his  prejudices  on  the  subject  of  what  a  woman  ought  to  be, 
and  leaves  him  nothing  with  which  to  compare  himself  to  his 
own  advantage.  This  is  the  miserable  state  to  which  Evadne 
was  rapidly  reducing  poor  Colonel  Colquhoun — not,  certainly, 
of  malice-prepense,  but  with  the  best  intentions.  He  did  not 
like  her  opinions,  therefore  she  ceased  to  express  opinions  in 
his  presence.  He  took  exception  to  many  of  her  observations, 
and  so  she  let  the  words,  "  I  think,"  fall  out  of  her  vocabulary, 
and  confined  her  talk  to  a  clear  narrative  of  occurrences,  un 
interrupted  by  comments.  It  was  an  art  which  she  had  to 
acquire,  for  she  had  no  natural  aptitude  for  it,  her  faculty  of 
observation  having  hitherto  served  as  an  instrument  with  which 
she  could  extract  lessons  from  life  ;  a  lens  used  for  the  pur 
pose  of  collecting  data  on  exact  scientific  principles  as  matter 
from  which  to  draw  conclusions  ;  but  with  practice  she  became 
an  adept  in  the  art  of  describing  the  one  while  at  the  same 
time  withholding  the  other,  so  that  her  conversation  interested 
Colonel  Colquhoun  without,  however,  giving  him  anything  to 
cavil  at.  It  was  like  a  dish  exactly  suited  to  his  taste,  but 
delicate  to  insipidity  because  his  palate  was  hardened  to 
pepper.  When  she  returned  from  Switzerland  she  'gave  him 
details  of  her  own  doings  which  were  interesting  enough  to  take 
him  out  of  himself,  until  one  day,  when,  unfortunately,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  she  was  making  an  effort  to  entertain 
him,  and  he  determined  that  he  would  not  be  entertained — 
like  a  child,  indeed  !  She  might  be  a  deuced  clever  woman 
and  all  that,  but  he  wasn't  going  to  have  those  feminine  airs  of 
superiority  ;  so  he  snubbed  her  into  silence,  and  having  suc 
ceeded,  he  became  exceedingly  annoyed  because  she  would 
not  talk.  It  was  opposition  he  wanted,  not  acquiescence,  but 
she  was  not  clever  enough  with  all  her  cleverness,  this  straight 
forward  nineteenth  century  young  woman,  to  understand  such 
subtleties.  She  had  always  heard  that  the  contrariness  of 
women  was  a  cause  of  provocation,  and  she  could  never  have 
been  made  to  comprehend  that  the  removal  of  the  cause  would 
be  even  more  provoking  than  the  contrariness.  The  great 
endeavour  of  her  life  had  been  to  cultivate  or  acquire  the 
qualities  in  which  she  understood  that  women  are  wanting, 
and  when  she  succeeded  she  expected  to  please  ;  but  she 
found  Colonel  Colquhoun  as  "peculiar  "  on  the  subject  as  her 
father  had  been  when  she  proved  that,  although  of  the  imbecile 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  323 

sex,  she  could  do  arithmetic.  Colonel  Colquhoun  waited  a 
week  to  snap  at  her  for  asking  him  how  he  had  spent  his  leave, 
but  he  was  obliged  at  last  to  give  up  all  hope  of  being  ques 
tioned  ;  and  then  he  felt  himself  aggrieved.  She  certainly 
took  no  interest  in  him  whatever,  he  reflected  ;  she  didn't  care 
a  rap  if  he  went  to  the  dogs  altogether — in  fact,  she  would 
probably  be  rather  glad,  because  then  she  would  be  free.  She 
would  waste  a  world  of  attention  and  care  upon  any  dirty 
little  child  she  picked  up  in  the  street,  but  for  him  she  had 
neither  thought  nor  sympathy.  Clearly  she  wanted  to  get  rid 
of  him- ;  and  she  should  get  rid  of  him.  He  felt  he  was  going 
to  the  bad  ;  he  would  go  to  the  bad  ;  it  was  all  her  fault,  and 
she  should  know  it.  He  had  treated  her  with  every  possible 
consideration  ;  she  had  never  had  the  slightest  cause  for  com 
plaint.  He  had  even  stuck  up  for  her  against  his  own  interests 
with  her  old  ass  of  a  father— and,  by  Jove  !  while  she  was 
treating  him,  Colonel  Colquhoun,  commanding  a  crack  corps, 
and  one  of  the  smartest  officers  in  her  Majesty's  service,  with 
studied  indifference,  she  was  thinking  affectionately  of  the 
same  dear  old  pompous  portly  papa,  to  whom,  in  fact,  she 
had  never  borne  the  slightest  ill-will,  Colonel  Colquhoun  was 
sure,  although  he  had  done  her  the  injury  of  allowing  her  to 
marry  herself  to  the  kind  of  man  whom  it  was  against  her 
principles  even  to  countenance. 

But  at  this  point  his  irritation  overflowed.     He  could  con 
tain  himself  no  longer. 

"  Do  you  know  where  I  spent  most  of  my  leave  ?  "  he  asked 
one  morning  at  breakfast. 

"  No,"  Evadne  answered  innocently. 

"  At  Monte  Carlo,"  he  said,  with  emphasis. 

I  hope  you  enjoyed  it.     I  have  always  heard  it  is  a  very 
beautiful  place,"  she  responded  tranquilly. 

"  It's  effect  on  my  exchequer  has  not  been  beautiful,"  he 
observed  grimly 

"  Indeed,"  she  answered.     "  Is  it  so  expensive  ?  " 

"  Gambling  is,  when  you  lose,"  he  declared. 

"  Ah,  yes.    I  forgot  the  tables  at  Monte  Carlo,"  she  remarked 
quite  cheerfully.     "  I  suppose  you  can  lose  a  great  deal  there." 

"  You  can  lose  all  you  possess." 

"  Well,  yes — of  course  you  could  if  you  liked  ;  but  I  am 
quite  sure  you  would  never  do  anything  so  stupid." 

He   looked   at   her   curiously  :    "  You  don't  disapprove  of 
gambling,  then  ?  "  he  asked 


324  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  I  ?  Oh — of  course,  I  disapprove.  But  then  you  see  I 
have  no  taste  for  it  " — this  was  apologetically  said  to  signify 
that  she  did  not  in  the  least  mean  to  sit  in  judgment  upon 
him. 

"  You  have  a  fine  taste  for  driving  people  to  such  extremi 
ties,  then,"  he  asserted. 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  What  I  mean  is  this,"  he  explained  :  "  that  if  I  could  have 
been  with  you,  I  should  not  have  gone  to  Monte  Carlo." 

Evadne  kept  her  countenance — with  some  difficulty  ;  for 
just  as  Colonel  Colquhoun  spoke  she  recollected  a  conversa 
tion  they  had  had  at  breakfast  one  morning  under  precisely 
similar  circumstances,  that  is  to  say,  each  in  their  accustomed 
place  and  temper,  she  placidly  content,  he  politely  striving  to 
bottle  up  the  chronic  form  of  irritation  from  whicJi  he  suffered 
at  that  time  of  the  day  so  as  to  keep  it  nice  and  hot  for  the 
benefit  of  his  officers  and  men  ;  for  Colonel  Colquhoun  in  the 
presence  of  a  lady  was  one  person,  but  Colonel  Colquhoun  in 
his  own  orderly  room  or  on  parade  was  quite  another.  While 
in  barracks  he  was  in  the  habit  of  swearing  with  the  same  ease 
and  as  unaffectedly  as  he  made  the  responses  in  church.  He 
probably  did  it  from  a  sense  of  duty,  because  he  had  been 
brought  up  in  that  school  of  colonel,  and  in  the  course  of 
years  would  naturally  come  to  consider  that  a  volley  of  oaths 
on  parade,  although  not  laid  down  in  the  "  Drill  Book,"  was  as 
much  a  part  of  his  profession  of  arms  as  "  Good  Lord,  deliver 
us  !  *  is  of  the  church  service.  At  all  events,  he  did  both 
punctually  at  the  right  time  and  place,  and  never  mixed  his 
week-day  oaths  with  his  Sunday  responses,  which  was  credit 
able.  'In  fact,  he  seemed  to  have  the  power  of  changing  his 
frame  of  mind  completely  for  the  different  occasions,  and  would 
be  prepared  in  advance,  as  was  evident  from  the  fact  that  if  a 
glove  went  wrong  just  as  he  was  starting  for  church,  he  would 
send  up  for  another  pair  amiably  ;  but  if  a  similar  accident 
happened  when  he  was  on  his  way  to  parade,  he  would  swear 
at  his  man  till  he  surprised  him — the  man  not  being  a  soldier 
servant. 

But  what  very  nearly  made  Evadne  smile  was  the  distinct 
recollection  she  had  of  having  asked  him  earnestly  to  join  her 
party  in  Switzerland  when  he  went  on  leave,  and  of  his 
answering  "  No,"  he  should  not  care  about  that,  and  suggest 
ing  that  she  should  meet  him  at  Monaco  instead.  She  fancied 
he  must  have  a  bad  memory,  but  of  course  she  said  nothing  ; 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  325 

what  is  the  use  of  saying  anything  ?  She  thought,  however, 
that  had  she  been  under  his  orders,  the  invitation  to  go  to 
Monaco  would  have  been  a  command,  and  the  present  implied 
reproach  a  direct  accusation. 

She  was  most  anxious  that  he  should  understand  perfectly 
that  she  quite  shrank  from  interfering  with  him  in  any  way. 

One  night — not  knowing  if  he  were  at  home  or  not — she 
had  occasion  to  go  downstairs  for  a  book  she  had  forgotten. 
There  was  no  noise  in  the  house,  and  consequently  when  she 
opened  the  drawing  room  door  she  was  startled  to  find  that  the 
room  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  that  there  was  a  party  assem 
bled  there,  consisting  of  three  strange  ladies,  loud  in  appear 
ance,  one  or  two  men  she  knew,  and  some  she  had  not  seen 
before.  The  majority  were  seated  at  a  card-table  playing, 
while  the  rest  stood  round  looking  on  ;  and  they  must  have 
reached  a  momentous  point  in  the  game,  for  Evadne  had  not 
heard  a  sound  to  warn  her  of  their  presence  before  she  saw 
them. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  was  one  of  those  looking  on  at  the  game, 
and  one  of  the  first  to  see  her.  He  changed  countenance,  and 
came  forward  hastily,  conscious  of  the  strange  contrast  she 
presented  to  those  women,  flushed  with  wine  and  horrid 
excitement,  gambling  at  the  table,  as  she  stood  there,  rooted 
to  the  spot  with  surprise,  in  her  gold-embroidered,  ivory-white 
draperies,  with  a  half-inquiring,  half-bewildered  look  on  her 
sweet  grave  face.  It  was  a  vision  of  holiness  breaking  in  upon 
a  scene  of  sin,  and  his  one  thought  was  to  get  her  away. 
There  was  always  that  saving  grace  of  the  fallen  angel  about 
him,  he  never  depreciated  what  he  had  lost,  but  sometimes 
sighed  for  it  sorrowfully. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  this  intrusion,"  Evadne  said,  looking 
at  him  pointedly  so  as  to  ignore  the  rest  of  the  party.  "  I  did 
not  even  know  that  you  were  at  home.  I  had  forgotten  a  book 
and  came  for  it.  Will  you  kindly  give  it  to  me  ?  It  is  called  " — 
she  hesitated.  "  But  it  does  not  matter,"  she  added  quickly. 
"  I  will  read  something  else.  Good-night  !  "  and  she  turned, 
smiling,  without  seeming  to  have  seen  anyone  but  Colonel 
Colquhouri,  and  calmly  swept  from  the  room. 

"  St.  Monica  the  Complacent,  I  should  say,"  one  of  the  men 
suggested. 

"Or  Vengeance  smiling  with  murder  in  her  mind,"  said 
another. 

"  No,  a  saint  for  certain,"  jeered  one  of  the  women. 


326  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S. 

"  Why  not  say  an  angel  at  once  ?"  cried  another. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  Colquhoun  could  keep  either 
upon  the  premises,"  laughed  the  third. 

"  The  lady  you  are  pleased  to  criticise  is  my  wife,  gentlemen," 
said  Colonel  Colquhoun,  lashing  out  at  them  suddenly,  his  face 
blazing  with  rage. 

The  women  tried  not  to  be  abashed  ;  the  men  apologised  ; 
but  the  game  was  over  for  that  night,  and  the  party  broke  up 
abruptly. 

When  they  had  gone,  Colonel  Colquhoun  looked  about  for 
Evadne's  book,  and  found  it — not  a  difficult  matter,  for  she 
had  a  bad  habit  of  leaving  the  book  she  was  reading  open  and 
face  downward  on  any  piece  of  furniture  not  intended  to  hold 
books,  by  preference  a  chair  where  somebody  might  sit  down 
upon  it.  This  one  happened  to  be  upon  the  piano  stool. 
Colonel  Colquhoun  glanced  at  the  title  as  he  picked  it  up,  and 
reading  "  A  Vision  of  Sin,"  understood  why  she  had  shrunk 
from  naming  it.  He  appreciated  her  delicacy,  but  he  feared 
the  discernment  which  had  shown  her  the  necessity  for  it,  and 
he  determined  to  disarm  her  resentment  next  day  by  making 
her  a  proper  apology  at  once. 

He  went  down  late  to  breakfast,  expecting  black  looks  at 
least,  and  was  surprised  to  find  her  calm  and  equable  as  usual, 
and  busy,  keeping  his  breakfast  hot  for  him. 

'*  I  wish  to  apologise  to  you  for  the  scene  you  witnessed  last 
night,"  he  began  ceremoniously. 

"  I  think  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  taking  you  unawares  like 
that,"  she  interrupted  cheerfully,  giving  her  best  attention  to  a 
very  full  cup  of  coffee  she  was  carefully  carrying  round  the  table 
to  him.  "  But  I  hope  you  understand  it  was  an  accident." 

"  I  quite  understood,"  he  answered  sullenly.  "  But  I  want 
to  explain  that  those  people  were  also  here  by  accident — at 
least  I  was  not  altogether  responsible  for  their  presence.  They 
were  a  party  from  one  of  the  yachts  in  the  harbour.  I  met 
them  here  at  the  door,  just  as  I  was  coming  in  last  night,  and 
they  forced  themselves  in  uninvited.  I  hope  you  believe  that 
I  would  not  willingly  bring  anyone  to  the  house  whom  I  could 
not  introduce  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I  quite  believe  it,"  she  answered  cordially.  "  You  are 
always  most  kind,  most  considerate.  But  I  fear,"  she  added 
with  concern,  "  that  my  being  here  must  inconvenience  you  at 
times.  Pray,  pray,  do  not  let  that  be  the  case.  I  should  regret 
it  infinitely  if  you  did," 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  327 

When  Evadne  left  Colonel  Colquhoun  he  threw  himself  into 
a  chair,  and  sat,  chin  on  chest,  hands  in  pockets,  legs  stretched 
out  before  him,  giving  way  to  a  fit  of  deep  disgust.  He  had 
always  had  a  poor  opinion  of  women,  but  now  he  began  to 
despair  of  them  altogether.  "  And  this  comes  of  letting  them 
have  their  own  way,  and  educating  them,"  he  reflected.  "  The 
first  thing  they  do  when  they  begin  to  know  anything  is  to  turn 
round  upon  us,  and  say  we  aren't  good  enough.  And,  by  Jove  ! 
if  we  aren't,  isn't  it  their  fault?  Isn't  it  their  business  to  keep 
us  right  ?  When  a  fellow's  had  too  good  a  time  in  his  youth 
and  suffered  for  it,  what  is  to  become  of  him  if  he  can't  find 
some  innocent  girl  to  believe  in  him  and  marry  him  ?  But 
there  soon  won't  be  any  innocent  girls.  Here  am  I  now,  a 
most  utter  bad  lot,  and  Evadne  knows  it,  and  what  does  she 
do  ?  apologizes  for  appearing  at  an  inopportune  time  !  Now, 
Beston's  wife  would  have  brought  the  house  about  his  ears  if 
she'd  caught  him  with  that  precious  party  I  had  here  last 
night ;  and  that's  what  a  woman  ought  to  do.  She  ought  to 
care.  She  ought  to  be  jealous,  and  cry  her  eyes  out.  She 
ought  to  go  down  on  her  knees  and  take  some  trouble  to  save 
a  fellow's  soul," — it  may  be  mentioned,  by  the  way,  that  if 
Evadne  7/^done  so,  Colonel  Colquhoun  would  certainly  have 
sworn  at  her  "  for  meddling  with  things  she'd  no  business  to 
know  anything  about "  ;  it  was,  however,  not  what  he  would 
but  what  she  shouldh&ve  done  that  he  was  considering  just  then. 
"  That's  the  proper  thing  to  do,"  he  concluded  ;  "  and  I  don't 
see  what's  to  be  gained  by  this  cursed  cold-blooded  indifference." 

Articulation  ceased  here  because  the  startling  theory  that  a 
vicious  dissipated  man  is  not  a  fallen  angel  easily  picked  up, 
but  a  frightful  source  of  crime  and  disease,  recurred  to  him, 
with  the  charitable  suggestion  that  a  repentant  woman  of  his 
own  class  would  be  the  proper  person  to  reform  him  ;  ideas 
which  settled  upon  his  soul  and  silenced  him,  being  full-fraught 
for  him  with  the  cruel  certainty  that  the  end  of  "  all  true 
womanliness"  is  at  hand. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

COLONEL  COLQUHOUN'S  first  interest  in  Evadne  lasted 
\j  longer  than  might  have  been  expected,  but  the  pleasure  of 
hanging  about  her  palled  on  him  at  last,  and  then  he  fell  off  in 
his  kind  attentions.  This  did  not  happen,  however,  as  soon  as 


328  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

it  would  have  done  by  many  months,  had  their  relations  been 
other  than  they  were.  It  began  in  the  usual  way.  Little  acts 
to  which  she  had  become  accustomed  were  omitted,  resumed 
again,  and  once  more  omitted,  intermittently,  then  finally  allowed 
to  drop  altogether.  When  the  change  had  set  in  for  certain, 
Evadne  regretted  it.  The  kindly  feeling  for  each  other  which 
had  come  to  exist  between  them  was  largely  due  to  her  appre 
ciation  of  the  numberless  little  attentions  which  it  had  pleased 
him  to  pay  her  at  first ;  they  had  not  palled  upon  her,  and  she 
missed  them — not  as  a  wife  would  have  done,  however,  and 
that  she  knew;  so  that  when  the  fact  that  there  was  to  be  a 
falling  off  became  apparent,  she  found  in  it  yet  another  cause 
for  self-congratulation,  and  one  that  was  great  enough  to  remove 
all  sting  from  the  regret.  What  she  was  prepared  to  resent, 
however,  was  any  renewal  of  the  gush  after  it  had  once  ceased  ; 
she  required  to  be  held  in  higher  estimation  than  a  toy  which 
could  be  dropped  and  taken  up  again  upon  occasion — and 
Colonel  Colquhoun  gave  her  an  opportunity,  and,  what  was 
worse,  provoked  her  into  saying  so,  to  her  intense  mortification 
when  she  came  to  reflect. 

There  was  to  be  a  ball  at  the  palace  one  night,  a  grand  affair, 
given  in  honour  of  that  same  fat  foreign  prince  who  had  stayed 
with  her  people  at  Fraylingay,  just  before  she  came  out,  and 
had  been  struck  by  the  promise  of  her  appearance.  In  the 
early  days  of  their  acquaintance,  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  given 
her  some  very  beautiful  antique  ornaments  of  Egyptian  design, 
and  she  determined  to  wear  them  on  this  occasion  for  the  first 
time,  but  when  she  came  to  try  them  with  a  modern  ball-dress, 
she  found  that  they  made  the  latter  look  detestably  vulgar. 
She  therefore  determined  to  design  a  costume,  or  to  adapt  one, 
which  should  be  more  in  keeping  with  the  artistic  beauty  of  her 
jewels  ;  and  this  idea,  with  the  help  of  an  excellent  maid,  she 
managed  to  carry  out  to  perfection — which,  by  the  way,  was 
the  accident  that  led  her  finally  to  adopt  a  distinctive  style  of 
dress,  always  a  dangerous  experiment,  but  in  her  case,  fortun 
ately,  so  admirably  successful,  that  it  was  never  remarked  upon 
as  strange  by  people  of  taste  ;  only  as  appropriate. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  dined  at  mess  on  the  night  of  the  ball, 
and  did  not  trouble  himself  to  come  back  to  escort  her.  He 
said  he  would  meet  her  at  the  palace,  and  if  he  missed  her  in 
the  crowd  there  were  sure  to  be  plenty  of  other  men  only  too 
glad  to  offer  her  an  arm.  He  had  been  most  particular  never 
to  allow  her  to  go  anywhere  alone  at  first — rather  inconve- 


TffE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

niently  so  sometimes,  but  that  she  had  endured.  She  was 
reflecting  upon  the  change  as  she  sat  at  her  solitary  dinner  that 
evening,  and  she  concluded  by  cheerfully  assuring  herself  that 
she  really  was  beginning  to  feel  quite  as  if  she  were  married. 
But,  afterward,  when  she  found  herself  in  the  drawing  room 
it  seemed  big  and  bare,  and  all  the  more  so  for  being  brilliantly 
lighted  ;  and  suddenly  she  felt  herself  a  very  little  body  all 
alone.  There  was  no  bitterness  in  the  feeling,  however,  because 
there  was  no  one  neglecting  her  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  her 
heart  up  ;  but  it  threatened  to  grow  upon  her  all  the  same,  and 
in  order  to  distract  herself  she  went  downstairs  to  choose  a 
bouquet.  She  had  several  sent  her  for  every  occasion,  and  they 
were  always  arranged  on  a  table  in  the  hall  so  that  she  might 
take  the  one  that  pleased  her  best  as  she  went  out.  There 
were  more  than  usual  this  evening.  There  was  one  from  the 
Grand  Duke,  which  she  put  aside.  There  was  one  from  Col 
onel  Colquhoun  ;  he  always  ordered  them  by  the  dozen  for  the 
different  ladies  of  his  acquaintance.  She  picked  it  up  and 
looked  at  it.  It  was  beautiful  in  its  way,  but  sent  at  the  florist's 
discretion,  not  chosen  to  suit  her  gown,  and  it  did  not  suit  it, 
so  that  she  could  not  have  used  it  in  any  case  ;  yet  she  put  it 
down  with  a  sigh/  The  next  was  of  yellow  roses,  violets,  and 
maidenhair  fern,  very  sweet  :  "  With  Lord  Groome's  compli 
ments,"  she  read  on  the  card  that  was  tied  to  it.  "  He  is  back 
then,  I  suppose,"  she  thought.  "  Funny  old  man  !  Very 
sorry,  but  you  won't  do."  The  next  was  from  one  of  the  sur 
vivals,  a  man  she  loathed.  She  thought  it  an  impertinence  for 
him  to  have  sent  her  flowers  at  all,  and  she  threw  them  under 
the  table.  The  rest  she  took  up  one  after  the  other,  reading 
the  cards  attached,  and  admiring  or  disapproving  of  the  differ 
ent  combinations  without  gratitude  or  sentiment ;  she  knew 
that  self-interest  prompted  all  of  the  offerings  that  were  not 
merely  sent  just  because  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  There  was 
one  unconventional  bunch,  however,  that  caught  her  eye.  It 
was  a  mere  handful  of  scarlet  flowers  tied  loosely  together 
with  ribbons  of  their  own  colour  and  the  same  tint  of  green  as 
their  leaves.  It  was  from  a  young  subaltern  in  the  regiment,  a 
boy  whom  she  had  noticed  first  because  he  was  the  same  age 
and  somewhat  resembled  her  brother  Bertram  ;  and  had  grown 
to  like  afterward  for  himself.  His  flowers  were  the  first  to 
arouse  her  to  any  expression  of  pleasure.  The  arrangement 
was  new  at  the  time,  but  it  has  since  become  common  enough. 
"  He  has  done  that  for  me  himself,"  she  thought.  "  The 


33°  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN*. 

boy  respects  me  ;  I  shall  wear  his  flowers.  They  are  beautiful 
too,"  she  added,  holding  them  off  at  arm's  length  to  admire 
them — "  the  most  beautiful  of  them  all." 

Almost  immediately  after  she  returned  to  the  drawing  room 
Mr.  Price  was  shown  in.  He  was  the  person  of  all  others  at 
that  moment  in  Malta  whom  she  would  most  have  liked  to  see 
could  she  have  chosen,  and  her  face  brightened  at  once  when 
he  entered. 

"  I  have  been  dining  with  your  husband's  regiment  to-night," 
he  explained,  "  and  I  found  that  he  could  not  come  back  for 
you  to  take  you  to  the  ball,  and  that  therefore  you  would  have 
to  go  alone  ;  and  so  I  ventured  to  come  myself  and  offer  you 
my  escort." 

"  Ah,  ho\v  good  you  are,"  Evadne  cried,  feeling  fully  for  the 
first  time  how  much  she  had  in  heart  been  dreading  the  ordeal 
of  having  perhaps  to  enter  the  ball  room  alone. 

The  old  gentleman  surveyed  her  some  seconds  in  silence. 

"  That's  original,"  he  said  at  last,  with  several  nods,  approv 
ingly.  "  And  that  is  a  glorious  piece  of  colour  you  have  in 
your  hand." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  she  said.  "  More  beautiful,  I  think,  than  all 
my  jewels." 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed.     "  The  flowers   are   the  finishing  touch." 

The  ball  had  begun  when  Evadne  arrived,  and  the  first  per 
son  she  encountered  was  the  Grand  Duke,  who  begged  for  a 
dance  and  took  her  to  the  ball  room.  A  dance  was  just  over, 
however,  when  they  entered  ;  the  great  room  was  pretty  clear, 
and  the  prince  led  her  toward  the  further  end  where  their 
hostess  was  sitting.  There  also  was  Colonel  Colquhoun  and 
and  some  other  men,  with  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston.  He  had 
forgotten  Evadne  for  the  moment,  and  she  was  so  transformed 
by  the  beautiful  lines  of  her  dress  that  he  had  looked  at  her 
hard  and  admiringly  before  he  recognized  her. 

"  Who's  the  lady  with  the  Grand  Duke  ? "  Major  Living 
ston  exclaimed. 

"  Someone  with  a  figure,  by  Jove  !  "  said  old  Lord  Groome. 

"  Loyal  Egypt  herself  !  "  said  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston,  always 
apt  at  analogy. 

"  Why — it's  Evadne,"  said  Colonel  Colquhoun. 

"  Didn't  know  his  own  wife,  by  Jove  !  "  Lord  Groome 
exclaimed. 

"  Well,  I  hope  I  may  be  pardoned  at  that  distance,"  rejoined 
Colonel  Colquhoun,  confused. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  331 

"  Roy^.1  Egypt  is  more  audacious  than  ever,*'  Mrs.  Guthrie 
Brimston  observed.  "  This  is  a  new  departure.  The  reign  of 
ideas  is  over,  I  fancy,  and  a  season  of  social  success  has 
begun." 

Evadne  danced  till  daylight,  unconscious  of  the  sensation 
she  had  made,  and  rose  next  morning  fresh  for  the  usual  occu 
pations  of  the  day ;  but  her  success  of  the  night  before  had  so 
enhanced  her  value  in  Colonel  Colquhoun's  estimation  that  he 
was  inclined  to  be  effusive.  He  returned  to  lunch,  and  hung 
about  her  the  whole  afternoon,  much  to  her  inconvenience, 
because  he  had  not  been  included  in  her  arrangements  for 
some  months  now,  and  she  could  not  easily  alter  them  all  at 
once  just  to  humour  a  whim  of  his.  But  wherefore  the  whim? 
A  very  little  reflection  explained  it.  Looks  and  tones,  and 
words  of  her  partners  of  the  previous  night,  not  heeded  at  the 
time,  recurred  to  her  now,  and  made  her  thoughtful.  But  she 
could  not  feel  flattered,  for  it  was  obviously  not  her  whom 
Colonel  Colquhoun  was  worshipping,  it  was  success  ;  and 
the  perception  of  this  truth  suggested  a  possible  parallel  which 
made  her  shudder.  It  was  a  terrible  glimpse  of  what  might 
have  been,  what  certainly  would  have  been,  had  not  the  dear 
Lord  vouchsafed  her  the  precious  knowledge  which  had  pre 
served  her  from  the  ultimate  degradation  and  the  insult  which 
such  an  endeavour  as  that  of  a  woman  she  had  in  her  mind, 
to  win  back  a  wandering  husband,  would  have  resulted  in.  "/ 
do  not  care,"  was  her  happy  thought  when  she  began  to  see 
less  of  Colonel  Colquhoun  ;  "  but  a  wife  would  feel  differently, 
and  it  would  have  been  just  the  same  had  I  been  his  wife." 

He  was  not  surprised  to  find  her  submit  to  his  extra  atten 
tions  in  silence  that  afternoon,  because  that  was  her  way,  but 
he  found  her  looking  at  him  once  or  twice  with  an  expression 
of  deep  thought  in  her  eyes  which  provoked  him  at  last  to  ask 
what  it  was  all  about.  "  I  was  thinking,"  she  answered,  "  of  that 
painful  incident  in  '  La  Femme  de  Trente-ans*  where  Julie  so 
far  forgot  her  self-respect  as  to  try  to  re-awaken  her  husband's 
admiration  for  her  by  displaying  her  superior  accomplishments 
at  the  house  of  that  low  woman  Mme.  de  Sericy.  You  remem 
ber  she  made  quite  a  sensation  by  her  singing  :  *  Et  son  mari, 
reveille"  par  le  role  qu'elle  venait  de  jouer,  voulut  1'honorer  d'une 
fantaisie,  et  la  prit  en  gout,  comme  il  cut  fait  d'une  actrice/  I 
was  thinking,  when  she  became  aware  of  what  she  had  done,  of 
the  degradation  of  the  position  in  which  she  had  placed  her 
self,  how  natural  it  was  that  she  should  depise  herself,  cursing 


332  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

marriage  which  had  brought  her  to  such  a  pass,  an4  wishing 
herself  dead." 

Colonel  Colquhoun  became  moody  upon  this  :  "My  having 
stayed  at  home  with  you  this  afternoon  suggests  a  parallel,  I 
suppose,  after  your  success  of  last  night  ?"  he  inquired.  "  And 
you  have  been  congratulating  yourself  all  day,"  he  proceeded, 
summing  up  judicially,  "upon  having  escaped  the  degradation 
of  being  the  wife  de  facto  of  a  man  whose  admiration  for  you 
could  cool — under  any  circumstances  ;  and  be  revived  again 
by  a  vulgar  success  in  society  ?  " 

She  was  silent,  and  he  got  up  and  walked  out  of  the  house. 
From  where  she  sat  she  saw  him  go,  twirling  his  blond  mous 
tache  with  one  hand,  and  viciously  flipping  at  the  flowers  as  he 
passed  with  the  stick  he  carried  in  the  other ;  a  fine,  soldier 
like  man  in  appearance  certainly,  and  not  wanting  in  intelli- 
—  gence  since  he  could  comprehend  her  so  exactly ;  but,  oh,  how 
oppressive  when  in  an  admiring  mood  !  This  was  her  first 
feeling  when  she  got  rid  of  him  ;  but  a  better  frame  of  mind 
supervened,  and  then  she  suffered  some  mortification  for  hav 
ing  weakly  allowed  herself  to  be  betrayed  into  speaking  so 
plainly.  Yet  it  proved  in  the  long  run  to  have  been  the  kindest 
thing  she  could  have  done,  for  Colonel  Colquhoun  was  enlight 
ened  at  last,  and  they  were  both  the  better  for  the  under 
standing. 

But  the  house  seemed  full  of  him  still  after  he  had  gone  that 
day,  and  she  therefore  put  on  her  things,  and,  hurrying  out 
into  the  fresh  air,  walked  quickly  to  the  house  of  a  friend 
where  she  knew  she  would  find  a  fresh  moral  atmosphere  also. 
She  was  soul-sick  and  depressed.  Life  felt  like  the  end  of  a 
ball,  all  confusion,  and  every  carriage  up  but  her  own  ,  torn 
gowns,  worn  countenances,  spiteful  remarks,  ill-natures  evident 
that  were  wont  to  be  concealed,  disillusion  generally,  and 
headache  threatening.  But,  fortunately,  she  found  a  friend  at 
home  to  whom  she  instinctively  went  for  a  moral  tonic.  This 
was  a  new  friend,  Lady  Clan,  the  widow  of  a  civil  service 
official,  who  wintered  all  over  the  world  as  a  rule,  but  had 
passed  that  year  at  Malta.  She  was  a  cheery  old  lady,  mascu 
line  in  appearance,  but  with  a  great,  kind,  womanly  heart,  full 
of  sympathetic  insight — and  a  good  friend  to  Evadne,  whom 
she  watched  with  fear  as  well  as  with  interest,  doubting  much 
what  would  come  of  all  that  was  unaccustomed  about  the  girl. 
The  sweet  grave  face  and  half  shut  eyes  appealed  to  her 
pathetically  that  afternoon  in  particular,  as  Evadne  sat  silently 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  333 

beside  her,  busy  with  a  piece  of  work  she  had  brought.  Lady 
Clan  thought  her  lips  too  firm  ;  as  she  grew  older,  she  feared 
her  mouth  would  harden  in  expression  if  she  were  not  happy — 
and  the  old  lady  inwardly  prayed  Heaven  that  she  might  be 
saved  from  that ;  prayed  that  little  arms  might  come  to  clasp 
her  neck,  and  warm  little  lips  shower  kisses  upon  her  lips  to 
keep  them  soft  and  smiling,  lest  they  settled  into  stony  cold 
ness,  and  forgot  the  trick. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MALTA  was  enlivened  that  winter  by  a  joke  which  Mrs. 
Guthrie  Brimston  made  without  intending  it. 

Mrs.  Malcomson  had  written  a  book.  She  was  thirty  years 
of  age,  and  had  been  married  to  a  military  man  for  ten,  and  in 
that  time  she  had  seen  some  things  which  had  made  a  painful 
impression  upon  her,  and  suggested  ideas  that  were  only  to  be 
got  rid  of  by  publishing  them.  Ideas  cease  to  belong  to  an 
author  as  soon  as  they  are  made  public  ;  if  they  are  new  at  all 
somebody  else  appropriates  them  ;  and  if  they  are  old,  as 
alas  !  most  of  them  must  be  at  this  period  of  the  world's 
progress,  the  mistaken  reproducer  is  relieved  of  the  horrid 
responsibility  by  kindly  critics  promptly.  Blessed  is  the  man 
who  never  flatters  himself  with  the  delusion  that  he  can  do 
anything  original ;  for,  verily,  he  shall  not  be  disappointed. 

Mrs.  Malcomson  made  no  such  vain  pretension.  She  was 
quite  clever  enough  to  know  her  own  limitations  exactly.  Out 
of  everyday  experiences  everyday  thoughts  had  come  to  her, 
and  when  she  began  to  embody  such  thoughts  in  words  she  did 
not  suppose  that  their  everyday  character  would  be  altered  by 
the  process.  She  had  not  met  any  of  those  perfect  beings  who 
inhabit  the  realms  of  ideal  prose  fiction,  and  make  no  mistakes 
but  such  as  are  necessary  to  keep  the  story  going  ;  nor  any  of 
the  terrible  demons,  without  a  redeeming  characteristic,  who 
haunt  the  dim  confines  of  the  same  territory  for  purposes 
invariably  malign  ;  and  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  pretend 
that  she  had.  She  was  a  simple  artist,  educated  in  the  life- 
school  of  the  world,  and  desiring  above  everything  to  be 
honest — a  naturalist,  in  fact,  with  positive  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  incapable  of  the  confusion  of  mind  or  laxity  of 
conscience  which  denies,  on  the  one  hand,  that  wrong  may  be 
pleasant  in  the  doing,  or  claims,  on  the  other,  with  equal 


334  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

untruth,  that  because  it  is  pleasant  it  must  be,  if  not  exactly 
right,  at  all  events,  excusable.  So  she  endeavoured  to  repre 
sent  things  as  she  saw  them,  things  real,  not  imaginary  ;  and 
when  her  characters  spoke  they  talked  of  the  interests  which 
were  daily  discussed  in  her  presence,  and  expressed  themselves 
as  human  beings  do.  She  was  too  independent  to  be  conven 
tional,  and  it  was  therefore  inevitable  that  she  should  bring 
both  yelp  and  bray  upon  herself,  and  be  much  misunderstood. 
When  asked  why  she  had  written  the  book,  she  answered  can 
didly :  ''For  my  own  benefit,  of  course,"  which  caused  a  per 
fect  howl  of  disapprobation,  for,  if  that  were  her  object,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that  she  would  attain  it,  as  the  book  had 
been  a  success  from  the  first ;  but  as  people  had  hastily 
concluded  that  she  was  setting  up  for  a  social  reformer  and 
would  fail,  they  were  naturally  disgusted.  They  had  been 
prepared  to  call  the  supposed  attempt  great  presumption  on 
her  part ;  but  when  they  found  that  she  had  merely  her  own 
interests  in  view,  and  had  not  let  their  moral  welfare  cost  her 
a  thought,  they  said  she  was  not  right-minded  ;  whereupon  she 
observed  :  "  I  don't  mind  having  my  morals  attacked ;  but  I 
should  object  to  be  pulled  up  for  my  grammar  " — meaning 
that  she  was  sure  of  her  morals,  but  was  half  afraid  that  her 
grammar  might  be  shaky.  As  is  inevitable,  however,  under 
such  circumstances,  this  obvious  interpretation  was  rejected, 
and  the  most  uncharitable  construction  put  upon  her  words. 
It  was  said,  among  other  things,  that  she  evidently  could  not 
be  moral  at  heart,  whatever  her  conduct  might  be,  because  she 
made  mention  of  immorality  in  her  book.  Her  manner  of 
mentioning  the  subject  was  not  taken  into  consideration, 
because  such  sheep  cannot  consider  ;  they  can  only  criticise. 
The  next  thing  they  did,  therefore,  was  to  take  o-ut  the  incident 
in  the  book  which  was  most  likely  to  damage  her  reputation, 
and  declare  that  it  was  autobiographical.  There  was  one  man 
who  knew  exactly  when  the  thing  had  occurred,  who  the  char 
acters  were,  and  all  about  it. 

"Nunc  dimittis  !  "  said  Mrs.  Malcomson  when  she  heard 
the  story  ;  "  for  the  same  thing  has  been  said  of  the  author  of 
any  book  of  consequence  that  has  ever  appeared."  And  natur 
ally  she  was  somewhat  puffed  up.  But  it  remained  for  Mrs. 
Guthrie  Brirnston  to  cap  the  criticisms.  Her  smouldering 
antagonism  to  Mrs.  Malcomson  was  kept  alight  by  a  strong 
suspicion  she  had  that  Mrs.  Malcomson  was  wont  to  ridicule 
her  :  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  best  jokes  of  that  winter  were 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  335 

made  by  Mrs.  Malcomson  at  the  expense  of  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brim- 
ston.  It  was  not  likely,  therefore,  that  the  latter  would  spare 
Mrs.  Malcomson  if  she  ever  had  an  opportunity  of  crushing 
her,  and  she  watched  and  waited  long  for  a  chance,  until  at 
last  one  night,  at  a  dinner  party,  she  thought  the  auspicious 
moment  had  arrived,  and  hastened  to  take  advantage  of  it ; 
but,  unfortunately  for  her,  she  chose  a  weapon  she  was  unac 
customed  to  handle,  and  in  her  awkwardness  she  injured  her 
self. 

Mr  Price  was  giving  the  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Malcomson  was 
not  there,  but  the  Colquhouns  and  Sillengers  were,  and  other 
friends  of  hers,  kindly  disposed,  cultivated  people,  who  spoke 
well  of  her,  and  were  all  agreed  in  their  praise  of  her  work. 

Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  stiffened  as  she  listened  to  their 
remarks,  but  held  her  peace  for  a  time,  with  thin  lips  com 
pressed,  and  rising  ire  apparent. 

"I  cannot  class  the  book,"  said  Colonel  Sillenger.  "  It  does 
not  claim  to  be  fact  exactly,  and  yet  it  is  not  fiction." 

"  Not  a  novel,  but  a  novelty,"  Major  Guthrie  Brimston  put 
in,  clasping  his  hands  on  his  breast,  twiddling  his  thumbs,  and 
setting  his  head  on  one  side,  the  "  business  "  with  which  he 
usually  accompanied  one  of  his  facetious  sallies. 

"  What  I  admire  most  about  Mrs.  Malcomson  is  her  courage," 
said  Mr.  Price.  "  She  ignores  no  fact  of  life  which  may  be 
usefully  noticed  and  commented  upon,  but  gives  each  in  it? 
natural  order  without  affectation.  Do  you  not  agree  with  me  ?  " 
he  asked,  turning  to  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  who  was  standing 
beside  him. 

Her  nostrils  flapped.  **  If  you  mean  to  say  that  you  like 
Mrs.  Malcomson's  book,  I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  she 
answered  decidedly  ;  "  I  consider  it  improper,  simply  !  " 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  such  as  sometimes  precedes 
a  burst  of  applause  at  a  theatre  ;  and  then  there  was  laughter ! 
Such  an  objection  from  such  a  quarter  was  considered  too 
funny,  and  when  it  became  known,  there  was  quite  a  run  upon 
the  book  ;  for  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's  stories  were  familiar 
to  the  members  of  all  the  messes,  naval  and  military,  in  and 
about  the  island,  not  to  mention  the  club  men,  and  the  curios 
ity  to  know  what  she  did  consider  an  objectionable  form  of 
impropriety  in  narrative  made  Mrs.  Malcomson's  fortune. 

From  that  time  forward,  however,  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston's 
influence  was  perceptibly  upon  the  wane.  Even  Colonel  Colqu- 
houn  wearied  of  her — to  Evadne's  great  regret.  For  Mrs, 


33  6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS, 

Guthrie  Brimston's  vulgarity  and  coarseness  of  mind  were 
always  balanced  by  her  undoubted  propriety  of  conduct,  and 
her  faults  were  altogether  preferable  to  the  exceeding  polish 
and  refinement  which  covered  the  absolutely  corrupt  life  of  a 
new  acquaintance  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  made  at  this  time,  a 
Mrs.  Drinkworthy,  who  would  not  have  lingered  alone  with 
him  anywhere  in  public,  but  dressed  sumptuously  at  his 
expense  the  whole  season.  The  different  estimation  in  which 
he  held  the  two  ladies  and  his  respect  for  Evadne  herself  was 
emphasised  by  the  fact  that  he  never  brought  Mrs.  Drink- 
worthy  to  the  Colquhoun  House,  nor  encouraged  Evadne  to 
associate  with  her  as  he  had  always  encouraged  her  to  associate 
with  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston.  And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  latter's  influence  was  restraining,  for,  after  his  allegiance  to 
her  relaxed,  Evadne  noticed  new  changes  for  the  worse  in  him, 
and  regretted  them  all  the  more  because  she  feared  that  a 
chance  remark  of  her  own  had  had  something  to  do  with 
weaning  him  from  the  Guthrie  Brimstons.  She  had  been 
having  tea  with  him  there  one  day,  and  on  their  way  home 
Colonel  Colquhoun  said  something  to  her  about  the  Guthrie 
Brimstons  having  been  unusually  amusing. 

"  They  only  seemed  unusually  talkative  to  me,"  she 
answered  ;  "  but  I  always  come  away  from  their  house 
depressed,  and  with  a  very  low  estimate  of  human  nature  gener 
ally.  I  feel  that  their  mockery  is  essentially  '  the  fume  of  little 
minds  ' ;  and  when  they  are  particularly  facetious  at  other 
people's  expense,  I  leave  them  with  the  pleasing  certainty  that 
our  own  peculiarities  will  be  put  under  the  microscope  as  soon 
as  we  are  out  of  earshot,  a  species  of  inquisition  from  which 
no  human  being  can  escape  with  dignity." 

Colonel  Colquhoun  reflected  upon  this.  His  horror  of  being 
made  to  appear  ridiculous  may  have  hitherto  blinded  him  to 
the  possibility  of  such  a  thing — there  is  no  knowing ;  but,  at 
all  events,  it  was  from  that  time  forward  that  he  began  to  go 
less  to  the  Guthrie  Brimstons. 

He  was  just  at  the  age,  however,  when  the  manners  of  cer 
tain  men  begin  to  deteriorate,  especially  in  domestic  life. 
Their  capacity  for  pleasure  has  been  lessened  by  abuse,  and 
they  have  to  excite  it  with  stimulants.  They  become  less  care 
ful  in  their  appearance,  are,  not  particular  in  their  choice  of 
words  before  the  ladies  of  their  own  families,  nor  nice  in  their 
manners  at  table.  If  not  already  married,  they  look  about  for 
something  young  and  docile  on  which  to  inflict  their  ill- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  337 

humours,  and  expect  to  have  their  maladies  of  mind  and  body 
tenderly  eared  for  in  return  for  such  ecstatic  joy  as  young 
wives  find  in  the  sober  certainties  of  board  and  lodging. 
Should  they  be  married  already,  however,  Heaven  be  good  to 
their  wives,  for  they  will  have  no  comfort  upon  earth  ! 

But  doubtless  in  the  good  time  coming,  all  estimable  wives 
will  subscribe  to  keep  up  asylums  to  whicli  their  husbands  can 
be  quietly  removed  for  treatment,  so  soon  after  the  honeymoon 
as  their  manners  show  signs  of  deterioration.  When  they  begin 
to  be  greedy,  forget  to  say  "  please,"  " thank  you,"  and  "I  beg 
your  pardon  ; "  show  no  consideration  for  anyone's  comfort 
but  their  own,  no  natural  affection,  and  lose  control  of  their 
tempers  ;  the  best  thing  that  can  be  done  for  them,  and  the 
kindest,  is  to  place  them  under  proper  restraint  at  once.  They 
cannot  be  treated  at  home.  Opposition  irritates  them,  and 
humouring  such  dreadful  propensities  submissively  only  con 
firms  them. 

The  deterioration  of  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  certainly  been 
delayed  by  the  arrangement  which  in  honour  bound  him  to 
treat  Evadne  as  a  young  lady,  and  not  as  a  wife  ;  but  that  it 
should  set  in  eventually,  was  inevitable.  When  it  did  begin, 
however,  it  was  less  in  manner,  for  the  same  reason  that  had 
delayed  it,  than  in  pursuits,  and  therefore  Evadne's  position 
was  not  affected  by  it,  and  she  continued  to  have  a  kindly, 
affectionate  feeling  for  him,  and  to  pity  him  still  without  bit 
terness. 

He  began  to  stay  out  late  at  night,  at  this  time,  and  she 
would  hear  him  occasionally  in  the  small  hours  of  the  early 
morning  returning  from  a  bachelor  dinner  party,  or  a  big 
guest-night  at  mess,  reeking,  doubtless,  of  tobacco  and  stimu 
lants.  Verily,  Ouida knows  what  she  is  writing  about  when  she 
invariably  adds  "  essences  "  to  the  toilet  of  her  dissipated  men. 
Evadne  would  wake  with  a  start  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn  some 
times,  and  hearing  Colonel  Colquhoun  pass  her  door  with 
unsteady  step  on  his  way  to  his  own  room,  would  shudder  to 
think  what  his  wife  must  have  suffered.  And  it  was  not  as  if 
the  sacrifice  of  herself  would  have  made  any  difference  to  him 
either.  If  she  could  have  done  any  good  in  that  way  she 
might  have  tried  ;  but  his  habits  were  formed,  and  they  were 
the  outcome  of  his  nature.  Nothing  would  have  changed  him, 
and  the  longer  she  lived  with  him,  the  more  reason  she  had  to 
be  convinced  of  this,  and  to  be  sure  that  her  decision  had  been 
a  right  and  wise  one. 


338  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

But  Colonel  Colquhoun  did  not  agree  with  her.  He  cher 
ished  the  vain  delusion  that,  although  her  influence  as  a  young 
lady  whom  he  admired  and  respected  had  not  availed  to  elevate 
him,  her  presence  as  a  wife,  whose  feelings  he  certainly  would 
not  have  felt  bound  to  consider,  and  whose  opinion  he  would 
not  have  cared  a  rap  for,  would  have  made  all  the  difference. 

They  drifted  into  a  discussion  of  this  subject  one  hot  after 
noon  when  he  happened  to  find  Evadne  idling  for  a  wonder 
with  a  fan  at  an  open  window. 

"  You  might  have  made  anything  you  liked  of  me  had  you 
adopted  a  different  course,"  he  said.  He  had  been  carousing 
the  night  before,  and  was  now  mistaking  nausea  and  depression 
for  a  naturally  good  disposition  perverted  by  ill-treatment. 

"  No,"  she  answered  gently.  4<  I  do  not  flatter  myself  that  I 
should  have  succeeded  where  Mrs.  Beston  and  half  a  dozen 
other  ladies  I  could  name  even  here,  in  a  little  place  like 
Malta,  all  more  lovable,  estimable,  and  stronger  in  womanly 
attributes  generally  than  I  am,  have  failed.  Colonel  Beston 
is  always  with  your  particular  clique — and  she  is  very  un 
happy." 

"  She  makes  herself  miserable  then,"  said  Colonel  Colqu 
houn,  the  natural  man  re-appearing  as  the  malaise  passed  off  or 
was  forgotten.  "  What  business  is  it  of  hers  where  he  goes  or 
what  he  does  so  long  as  he  is  nice  to  her  when  he  is  at  home  ?" 

"  Just  reverse  the  position,  and  consider  what  Colonel 
Beston's  feelings  would  be  if  she  took  to  amusing  herself  as  he 
does,  and  maintained  that  he  had  no  business  to  interfere  with 
her  private  pursuits  ;  would  he  be  satisfied  so  long  as  she  was 
*  nice  '  to  him  at  home  ?  "  Evadne  asked. 

Colonel  Colquhoun's  countenance  lowered.  "  That  is  non 
sense,"  he  said.  "Women  are  different.  They  must  behave 
themselves." 

Evadne  smiled.  "  I  am  beginning  to  know  that  phrase,"  she 
said.  "  It  puzzled  me  at  first,  because  it  is  neither  reason  nor 
argument,  but  merely  an  assertion  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a 
command,  and  equally  applicable  to  either  sex,  if  the  other 
chose  to  use  it.  But  I  know  that  what  you  have  just  said  with 
regard  to  Mrs.  Beston  having  no  occasion  to  make  herself  mis 
erable  is  your  true  feeling  on  the  subject,  and  therefore  I  am 
convinced  that  if  I  had  '  adopted  a  different  course,'  it  would 
not  have  been  to  your  advantage  in  any  way,  and  it  would  cer 
tainly  have  been  very  much  to  the  reverse  of  mine.  We  are 
excellent  friends  as  it  is,  because  we  are  quite  independent  of 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  339 

each  other,  but  had  it  been  otherwise— I  shudder  to  think  of 
the  hopeless  misery  of  it." 

Colquhoun  was  silent. 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  me,  then/'  he  said  at  last,  lamely. 
"  I  suppose  the  truth  of  the  matter  is  you  never  cared  for  me 
at  all ;  you  just  thought  you  would  get  married,  and  accepted 
me  because  I  was  the  first  person  to  propose,  and  your  friends 
considered  me  eligible.  I  think  you  are  cold-hearted,  Evadne. 
I  have  watched  you  since  you  came  out  here,  and  I've  never 
seen  you  fancy  any  man,  even  for  a  moment." 

Evadne  flushed  angrily.  It  is  one  thing  to  consider  ethical 
questions  in  relation  to  their  bearing  upon  the  future  of  the 
world  at  large,  and  another  to  have  it  suggested  that  you  have 
been  under  observation  yourself  with  a  view  to  discovering  if 
you  found  it  possible  to  live  up  to  your  own  ideas.  It  was  a 
fact,  however,  that  no  man  attracted  Evadne  during  this  period 
as  Colonel  Colquhoun  himself  had  done.  The  shock  of  the 
discovery  which  had  destroyed  her  passion  for  him  had  caused 
a  revulsion  of  feeling  great  enough  to  subdue  all  further  pos 
sibilities  of  passion  for  years  to  come,  and  even  if  she  had  been 
free  to  marry  she  would  not  have  done  so.  All  the  energy  of 
her  nature  had  flashed  from  her  heart  to  her  brain  in  a  mo 
ment,  and  every  instinct  of  her  womanhood  was  held  in  check 
by  the  superior  power  of  intellect.  Since  the  day  of  the 
marriage  ceremony  she  had  been  a  child  in  her  pleasures, 
and  only  mature  in  the  capacity  for  thought.  Her  senses  had 
been  stunned,  and  still  slept  heavily  ;  but  there  remained  to 
her  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  entrancing  period  which  had 
followed  their  first  awakening,  and  so  she  answered  Colonel 
Colquhoun's  last  remark  decidedly. 

"You  are  mistaken/'  she  said,  "if  you  imagine  that  I  did 
not  care  for  you — that  I  was  merely  marrying  you  for  the  sake 
of  marrying,  and  would  have  been  quite  as  content  with  any 
one  else  whom  my  friends  might  have  considered  eligible. 
My  mother  was  very  much  disappointed  because  I  did  not 
accept  an  offer  I  had  before  I  saw  you  from  a  man  who  was 
certainly  '  eligible  '  in  every  way — I  think  you  said  my  father 
had  told  you  of  it  ?  I  could  not  care  for  him;  but  I  think  my 
passion  for  you  was  blinder  and  more  headlong,  if  anything, 
than  is  usually  the  case  in  very  young  girls.  It  possessed  me 
from  the  moment  I  saw  you  in  church  that  first  time,  You 
pleased  my  eyes  as  no  other  man  has  ever  done,  and  I  was  only 
too  glad  to  take  it  for  granted  that  your  career  and  your  char- 


340  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

acter  were  all  that  they  ought  to  have  been.  But  of  course  I 
did  not  love  you,  for  passion,  you  know,  is  only  the  introduc 
tion  to  love.  It  is  a  flame  that  may  be  blown  out  at  any  time 
by  a  difference  of  opinion,  and  mine  went  out  the  moment  I 
learnt  that  your  past  had  been  objectionable.  I  really  care 
more  for  you  now  than  I  did  in  the  days  when  I  was  '  in  love  ' 
with  you.  For  you  have  been  very  good  to  me — very  kind  in 
every  possible  way.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  I  have  more  than 
once  felt  the  keenest  regret — I  have  wished  that  there  was  no 
barrier  between  us." 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  me,  then?"  he  again  suggested,  but 
with  hope  in  his  heart  as  he  spoke. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"It  is  what  might  have  been  that  I  regret,"  she  answered; 
"  but  that  does  not  change  what  has  been — and  is." 

"  I  suppose  you  consider  that  I  have  spoilt  your  life  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Don't  think  that.  Don't 
blame  yourself.  I  have  never  blamed  you  since  I  was  cool 
enough  to  reflect.  It  is  the  system  that  is  at  fault,  the  laxity 
which  permits  anyone,  however  unfit,  to  enter  upon  the  most 
sacred  of  all  human  relations.  Saints  should  find  a  reward  for 
sanctity  in  marriage;  but  the  Church,  with  that  curious  want 
of  foresight  for  which  it  is  peculiar,  induced  the  saints  to  put 
themselves  away  in  barren  *celibacy  so  that  their  saintliness 
could  not  spread,  while  it  encouraged  sinners  satiated  with  vice 
to  transmit  their  misery-making  propensities  from  generation 
to  generation.  I  believe  firmly  that  marriage,  when  those  who 
marry  are  of  such  character  as  to  make  the  contract  holy  matri 
mony,  is  a  perfect  state,  fulfilling  every  law  of  our  human 
nature,  and  making  earth  with  all  its  drawbacks  a  heaven  of 
happiness;  but  such  marriages  as  we  see  contracted  every  day 
are  simply  a  degradation  of  all  the  higher  attributes  which  dis 
tinguish  men  from  beasts.  For  there  is  no  contract  more  care 
lessly  made,  more  ridiculed,  more  lightly  broken  ;  no  sacred 
subject  that  is  oftener  blasphemed;  and  nothing  else  in  life 
affecting  the  dignity  and  welfare  of  man  which  is  oftener 
attacked  with  vulgar  ribaldry  in  public,  or  outraged  in  private 
by  the  secret  conduct  of  it.  No.  You  are  not  to  blame,  nor 
am  I.  It  is  not  our  fault  that  we  form  the  junction  of  the  old 
abuses  and  the  new  modes  of  thought.  Some  two  people  must 
have  met  as  we  have  for  the  benefit  of  others.  But  it  has  been 
much  better  with  us  than  it  might  have  been — thanks  to  your 


THE  HEAVENLY   TIVI.VS.  34 1 

kindness.  I  have  been  quite  happy  here  with  you — much 
happier  than  I  should  have  been  at  Fraylingay,  I  think,  all  this 
time.  You  have  never  interfered  with  my  pursuits  or  endea 
voured  to  restrict  my  liberty  in  any  way,  and  consequently  my 
occupations  and  interests  have  been  more  varied,  and  my 
content  greater  than  it  would  have  been  at  home  after  my 
father  had  discovered  how  very  widely  we  differ  in  opinion. 
I  am  grateful  to  you,  George,  and  I  do  hope  that  it  has  been 
as  well  with  you  as  it  has  been  with  me  since  I  came  to 
Malta." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  have  been  all  right,"  he  answered — in  a  quite 
dissatisfied  tone,  however.  But  presently  that  passed,  and  then 
he  slid  into  a  better  frame  of  mind,  "  You  are  a  good  woman, 
Evadne,"  he  said.  "  You  have  played  me  a — ah — very  nasty 
trick,  and  I  don't  agree  with  you — and  I  don't  believe  there 
are  a  dozen  men  in  the  world  at  the  present  moment  who 
would  agree  with  you.  But,  apart  from  your  peculiar  opinions, 
you  are  about  one  of  the  nicest  girls  I  ever  knew.  Everything 
you  do  is  well  done.  You're  never  out  of  temper.  You  don't 
speak  much,  as  a  rule,  but  you're  always  ready  to  respond 
cheerfully  when  you're  spoken  to — and  you  don't  interfere.  I 
wish  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul  you  had  never  been  taught  to 
read  and  write,  and  then  you  would  have  had  no  views  to  come 
between  us.  But  since  you  think  you  cannot  care  for  me,  I 
shall  not  persecute  you.  I  gave  you  my  word  of  honour  that  I 
never  would,  and  I  hope  I  have  kept  it." 

"Yes — indeed.  You  have  been  goodness  itself,"  she  an 
swered. 

"  I  wrote  and  told  your  father  how  very  well  we  get  on/'  he 
continued,  "and  tried  to  persuade  him  to  make  it  up  with  you, 
but  the  old  gentleman  is  obstinate.  He  has  his  own  notion  of 
a  wife's  duty,  and  he  sticks  to  it.  But  I  did  my  best,  because 
I  know  you  feel  the  separation  from  your  own  family,  although 
you  never  complain.  He  can't  get  over  your  wanting  a 
*  Christlike '  man  for  a  husband.  He  says  he  laughs  every 
time  he  thinks  of  it.  The  first  time  he  laughed  at  that  idea  of 
yours  I  was  there,  and  a — eh — very  unpleasant  laugh  it  was. 
It  got  my  back  up  somehow,  and  made  me  feel  ready  to  take 
your  part  against  him.  It  isn't  a  compliment,  you  know,  to 
have  your  father-in-law  laugh  outright  at  the  notion  of  your 
ever  being  able  to  come  up  to  your  wife's  idea  of  what  a  man 
should  be.  And  when  he  came  down  raging  about  your  books, 
it  was  the  recollection  of  that  laugh,  I  believe,  that  made  me 


342  THE  HE  A  TEN  I.  Y   TWIXS. 

determine  to  get  them  for  you.  I  asked  your  mother  to  show 
me  your  old  rooms,  and  I  just  took  all  the  books  I  could  find; 
and  then  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  make  your  new 
rooms  look  as  much  like  the  old  ones  as  possible." 

"  It  was  a  very  kind  thought,"  Evadne  answered. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  have  been  a  saint;  very  much  the  con 
trary,"  Colonel  Colquhoun  proceeded  with  that  assumption  of 
humility  often  apparent  in  the  repentant  sinner  who  expects  to 
derive  both  credit  and  importance  from  his  past  when  he 
frankly  confesses  it  was  wicked,  "  but  I  hope  I  have  always 
been"  a  gentleman," — with  her  "saint"  and  "gentleman  "  were 
synonymous  terms, — "  and  what  I  want  to  say  is,"  he  con 
tinued — "I  don't  quite  see  how  to  put  it;  but  you  have  just 
expressed  yourself  satisfied  with  the  arrangements  I  have  made 
for  you  so  far.  Well,  if  you  really  think  that  I  have  done  all 
I  can  to  make  your  life  endurable,  will  you  do  something  for 
me  ?  I  am  a  good  deal  older  than  you  are.  In  all  human 
probability  you  will  outlive  me.  Will  you  promise  me  that 
during  my  lifetime  you  will  not  mix  yourself  up  publicly — will 
not  join  societies,  make  speeches,  or  publish  books,  which 
people  would  know  you  had  written,  on  the  social  subjects  you 
are  so  fond  of." 

"Fond  of  *  "  she  ejaculated. 

"  Well,  perhaps  that  is  not  the  right  expression,"  he  con 
ceded. 

"  No,  very  far  from  the  right  expression,"  she  answered 
gently.  "  Social  subjects  seem  to  be  forcing  themselves  on  the 
attention  of  every  thoughtful  and  right-minded  person  just  now, 
and  it  would  be  culpable  cowardice  to  shun  them  while  there 
is  the  shadow  of  a  hope  that  some  means  may  be  devised  to 
put  right  what  is  so  very  wrong.  Ignoring  an  evil  is  tanta 
mount  to  giving  it  full  licence  to  spread.  But  I  am  thankful 
to  say  I  have  never  known  anyone  who  found  the  knowledge 
of  evil  anything  but  distressing — except  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston, 
and  she  only  delights  in  it  so  long  as  it  is  made  a  jest  of.  But 
they  are  all  alike  in  that  set  she  belongs  to.  Their  ideas  of 
propriety  are  bounded  by  their  sense  of  pleasure.  So  long  as 
you  talk  flippantly,  they  will  listen  and  laugh;  but  if  you  talk 
seriously  on  the  same  subject,  you  make  the  matter  disagree 
able,  and  then  they  call  it  '  improper.'  ' 

Colonel  Colquhoun  was  standing  with  his  arms  folded  on  the 
parapet  of  the  veranda  looking  down  a  vista  of  yellow  houses 
at  a  glimpse  there  was  of  the  sea,  dotted  with  boats,  hazy  with 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  343 

heat,  intensely  blue,  and  sparkling  back  reflections  of  the  glar 
ing  sun.  From  where  Evadne  sat  she  saw  the  same  scene 
through  the  open  balustrade  over  the  tops  of  the  oleanders 
growing  in  the  garden  below,  and  gradually  the  heat,  and 
stillness,  and  beauty,  stole  over  her,  melting  her  mood  to 
tenderness,  and  filling  her  mind  with  sadly  sweet  memories  of 
the  days  of  delight  which  preceded  "  all  this."  She  thought 
of  the  yellow  gorse  on  the  common,  recalling  its  peculiar 
fragrance;  of  the  misty  cobwebs  stretched  from  bush  to  bush, 
and  decked  with  dazzling  drops  of  dew;  of  the  healthy  happy 
heath  creatures  peeping  out  at  her  shyly,  here  a  rabbit  and 
there  a  hare;  of  a  lark  that  sprang  up  singing  and  was  lost  to 
sight  in  a  moment,  of  a  thrush  that  paused  to  reflect  as  she 
passed.  She  thought  of  the  little  church  on  the  high  cliffs,  the 
bourne  of  her  morning  walks,  of  the  long  stretch  of  sand;  and 
of  the  sea;  and  she  felt  the  fresh  free  air  of  those  open  spaces 
rouse  her  again  to  a  gladness  in  life  not  often  known  to  ladies 
idling  on  languid  afternoons  in  the  sickly  heat  essential  to  the 
wellbeing  of  citron,  orange,  and  myrtle;  beloved  of  the  mythi 
cal  faun,  but  fatal  to  the  best  energies  of  the  human  race.  And 
by  a  very  natural  transition,  her  mind  leaped  on  to  that  morn 
ing  in  church  when  the  sense  of  loneliness  which  comes  to  all 
young  creatures  that  have  no  mate  resolved  itself  into  that 
silent  supplication,  the  petition  which  it  is  a  part  of  the  joy  of 
life  in  youth  to  present  to  a  heaven  which  is  willing  enough  to 
hear;  and  she  recalled  the  thrill  of  delight  that  trembled 
through  every  nerve  of  her  body  when  she  looked  up,  and 
found  her  answer,  when  she  saw  and  recognized  what  she 
sought  in  the  glance  which,  flashing  between  them,  was  the 
spark  that  first  fired  the  train  of  her  blind  passion  for  Colonel 
Colquhoun.  She  thought  then  that  her  prayer  was  answered 
at  that  moment;  and  she  believed  still  that  it  had  been  an 
swered  so;  but  for  a  special  purpose  which  she  had  not  then 
perceived.  Colonel  Colquhoun  was  not  the  husband  of  her 
heart,  but  the  rod  of  chastisement  for  her  rash  presumption; 
he  had  not  been  given  to  her  for  her  own  happiness,  but  that 
she  might  act  as  she  had  done  to  set  an  example  by  which  she 
should  have  the  double  privilege  of  expiating  a  fault  of  her 
own,  and  at  the  same  time  securing  the  peace  in  life  of  others. 
It  was  in  this  way  there  hummed  in  her  brain  on  that  hot 
afternoon  results  of  the  faith  which  had  been  held  by  her 
ancestors;  of  the  teaching  which  she  had  herself  received 
directly;  with  a  curious  glimmering  of  truths  that  were  already 


344  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

half  apparent  to  her  own  acute  faculties;  an  incongruous 
jumble  all  leavened  by  the  natural  instincts  of  a  being  rich  in 
vitality,  and  wholesome  physical  force.  With  the  recollection 
of  the  old  days  came  back  the  shadow  of  the  old  sensation. 
The  interval  was  forgotten  for  the  moment.  She  saw  before 
her  the  man  whose  every  glance  and  word  had  thrilled  her  with 
pleasurable  emotion,  whom  it  had  been  a  joy  just  to  be  with 
and  see.  It  was  the  same  man  leaning  there,  fine  of  form  and 
feature,  with  a  dreamy  look  in  his  blue  eyes  softening  the  glitter 

which  was  apt  to  be  hard  and  stony.  If  only At  that 

moment  Colonel  Colquhoun  looked  round  at  her,  hesitated, 
although  his  face  flushed,  and  then  exclaimed  :  "  Evadne,  you 
do  love  me  !  " 

"  I  did  love  you,"  she  answered. 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  close  to  her :  "Will  you  forget  all 
this  ?  "  he  said.  "  Will  you  forget  my  past ;  will  you  make  me 
a  different  man  ?  Will  you  ?  You  can."  He  half  stretched 
out  his  hand  to  take  hers,  but  then  drew  back,  a  gentleman 
always  in  that  he  would  not  force  her  inclinations  in  any  way. 
"  If  I  do  not  change,  we  can  be  again  as  we  are  now,  and  there 
would  be  no  harm  done.  Will  you  consent,  Evadne,  will  you 
— my  wife — will  you?" 

He  leant  forward  so  close  that  her  senses  were  troubled — 
too  close,  for  she  pushed  her  chair  back  to  relieve  herself  of 
the  oppression,  and  the  act  irritated  him.  Another  moment,  a 
little  more  persuasion  and  caressing  of  the  voice,  which  he 
could  use  so  well  to  that  effect,  and  she  might  have  given  in  to 
the  kind  of  fascination  which  she  had  felt  in  his  presence  from 
the  first ;  but  when  she  moved  he  drew  back  too,  his  coun 
tenance  clouded,  and  her  own  momentary  yearning  to  be  held 
close,  close  ;  to  be  kissed  till  she  could  not  think  ;  to  live 
the  intoxicating  life  of  the  senses  only,  and  not  care,  was 
over. 

"We  could  never  be  again  as  we  are  now,"  she  answered. 
"  There  would  be  no  return  for  me.  A  wife  cannot  feel  as  I 
do.  And  you — you  would  not  change.  Or  at  least  you  would 
only  change  your  habits  ;  the  consequences  of  them  you  will 
carry  to  your  grave  with  you,  and  I  doubt  if  you  could  ever 
change  your  habits  once  for  all.  You  were  a  different  man  for 
a  while  when  I  first  came  out,  but  you  soon  relapsed.  No.  I 
can  never  regret  my  present  attitude  ;  but  I  have  seen  several 
times  already  how  much  reason  I  should  have  to  regret — a 
different  arrangement." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS  345 

"You  make  light  of  love,"  he  said.  "Many  a  girl  has  died 
of  a  disappointment." 

"  Many  a  girl  is  a  fool,"  she  answered  placidly.  "And  what 
can  love  offer  me  in  exchange  for  the  calm  content  of  my 
life  just  now  ?  for  my  perfect  health  ?  for  my  freedom  from 
care?" 

"A  reconciliation  with  your  family,"  he  suggested. 

She  sighed,  and  sat  silent  a  little,  lost  in  thought. 

"  I  do  not  live  with  my  family  now,"  she  answered  at  last. 
"  They  have  all  their  own  interests,  their  own  loves,  apart  from 
mine  ;  would  a  letter  or  two  a  year  from  them  make  up  after 
all  for  the  risk  of  misery  I  should  be  running — for  the  terrible, 
helpless,  hopeless,  incurable  misery  of  an  unhappily  married 
woman,  if  I  should  become  one?" 

He  rose  and  returned  to  his  old  position,  leaning  over  the 
veranda,  looking  down  to  the  sea. 

"You  are  cold-blooded,  I  think,  Evadne,"  he  reiterated. 

She  said  nothing,  but  rested  her  head  on  the  back  of  her 
chair  and  smiled.  She  was  not  cold-blooded,  and  he  knew  it 
as  well  as  she  did.  She  was  only  a  nineteenth  century  woman 
of  the  higher  order  with  senses  so  refined  that  if  her  moral  as 
well  as  h»r  physical  being  were  not  satisfied  in  love,  both 
would  revolt.  They  were  silent  some  time  after  that,  and  then 
he  turned  to  her  once  more. 

"Will  you  promise  me  that  one  thing,  Evadne?"  he  asked. 
"  Promise  me  that  during  my  lifetime  you  will  never  mix  your 
self  up — never  take  part  publicly  in  any  question  of  the  day. 
It  would  be  too  deuced  ridiculous  for  me,  you  know,  to  have 
my  name  appearing  in  the  papers  in  connection  with  measures 
of  reform,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I  promise  to  spare  you  that  kind  of  annoyance  at  all 
events,"  she  answered  without  hesitation,  making  the  promise, 
not  because  she  was  infirm  of  purpose,  but  because  she  was  in 
definite  ;  she  had  no  impulse  at  the  time  to  do  anything,  and 
no  notion  that  she  would  ever  feel  impelled  to  act  in  opposi 
tion  to  this  wish  of  his. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  there  was  another  little  pause, 
which  he  was  again  the  first  to  break. 

"  You  would  have  loved  me,  then;  if  I  had  lived  a  different 
life,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  simply,  "  I  should  have  loved  you.  No 
other  man  has  made  me  feel  for  a  moment  what  I  felt  for  you, 
while  I  believed  that  you  were  all  that  a  man  should  be  who 


34&  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

proposes  to  marry  ;  and  I  don't  think  any  other  man  ever  will. 
You  were  born  for  me.  Why,  oh,  why  .'  did  you  not  live  for 
me  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  God  I  had,"  he  answered. 

She  rose  impulsively,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  to  him. 
Its  was  a  movement  of  pain  and  pity,  sorrow  and  sympathy, 
and  he  understood  it. 

"  You  meant  to  marry  always,"  she  said.  "  You  treasured  in 
your  heart  your  ideal  of  a  woman  ;  why  could  you  not  have 
lived  so  that  you  would  have  been  her  ideal  too,  when  at  last 
you  met  ?  " 

He  took  her  two  little  outstretched  hands  and  held  them  a 
moment  in  his,  looking  down  at  them.  "  I  wish  to  God  I 
had,"  he  repeated. 

"  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  a  woman  has  her  ideal  as 
well  as  a  man  ?  "  she  said  :  "  that  she  loves  purity  and  truth, 
and  loathes  degradation  and  vice  more  than  a  man  does  ? " 

"  Theoretically,  yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  you  find  practically 
that  women  will  marry  anyone.  If  they  were  more  particular, 
we  should  be  more  particular  too." 

"  Ah,  that  is  our  curse,"  said  Evadne — "  yours  and  mine. 
If  women  had  been  '  more  particular '  in  the  past,  you  would 
have  been  a  good  man,  and  I  should  have  been  a  happy  wife 
to-day." 

He  raised  her  hands,  which  he  was  still  holding,  placing  them 
palm  to  palm,  took  them  in  one  of  his,  and  clasped  them  to  his 
chest,  bringing  her  very  close  to  him  ;  and  then  he  looked  into 
her  upturned  face,  considering  it,  with  that  curious  set  expres 
sion  on  his  own,  which  always  came  at  a  crisis.  Her  lips  were 
parted,  her  cheeks  were  pale,  she  still  panted  from  the  passion 
of  her  last  utterance,  and  her  eyes,  as  he  looked  down  into 
them,  were  pained  in  expression  and  fixed.  He  let  her  hands 
drop,  and  once  more  returned  to  his  old  position,  leaning  upon 
the  balustrade  with  his  back  to  her,  looking  out  over  the  sea. 
If  it  had  been  possible  to  have  obtained  the  mastery  he  had 
dreamed  of  over  her,  mere 'animal  mastery,)  the  thought  would 
have  repelled  him  now.  He  might  have  dominated  her  senses, 
but  her  soul  would  only  have  been  the  more  confirmed  in  its 
loathing  of  his  life.  He  knew  the  strength  of  her  convictions, 
knew  that,  so  long  as  they  were  a  few  yards  apart,  she  could 
always  have  ruled  both  herself  and  him  ;  and  life  is  lived  a  few 
yards  apart.  It  was  the  best  side  of  his  nature  that  was  under 
influence,  and  he  had  now  some  saving  grace  of  man" 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  347 

hood  in  him,  which  enabled  him  to  appreciate  the  esteem  with 
which  she  had  begun  to  repay  his  consideration  for  her,  and  to 
admire  the  consistent  self-respect  which  had  brought  her  trium 
phantly  out  of  all  her  difficulties,  and  won  her  a  distinguished 
position  in  the  place.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  be  satisfied,  and 
knew  that  he  would  have  to  be. 

She  remained  standing  as  he  had  left  her,  and  presently  he 
turned  to  her  again.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  for  provoking  a 
discussion  which  has  pained  you  needlessly.  If  repentance  and 
remorse  could  wipe  out  the  past,  I  should  be  worthy  to  claim 
you  this  minute.  But  I  know  you  are  right.  There  might 
have  been  hours  of  intoxication,  but  there  would  have  been 
years  of  misery  also — for  you — as  my  wife.  Your  decision  was 
best  for  both  of  us.  It  was  our  only  chance  of  peace."  He 
looked  at  her  wistfully,  and  approached  a  step. 

She  met  him  more  than  halfway.  She  put  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  and  looked  up  at  him.  "  But  we  are  friends, 
George,"  she  said  with  emotion.  "  I  seem  to  have  nobody  now 

but  you  belonging  to  me,  and  I  should  be  lonely  indeed  if " 

She  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  he  said  huskily.  "  Of  course  we  are  friends  ; 
the  best  friends.  We  shall  always  be  friends.  I  have  never 
let  anyone  say  a  word  against  /you,  and  I  never  will.  I  am 
proud  to  think  that  you  are  known  by  my  name.  I  only  wish 
that  I  could  make  it  worthy  of  you — and,  perhaps,  some  day — • 
in  the  field " 

Poor  fellow  !  The  highest  proof  of  moral  worth  he  knew  of 
was  to  be  able  to  take  a  prominent  part  in  some  great  butchery 
of  his  fellow-men,  without  exhibiting  a  symptom  of  fear. 

Evadne  had  recovered  herself,  and  now  smiled  up  at  him 
with  wet  eyelashes. 

"  Not  there,  I  hope  !"  she  answered.  "Going  to  war  and 
getting  killed  is  not  a  proof  of  affection  and  respect  which  we 
modern  women  care  about.  I  would  rather  keep  you  safe  at 
home,  and  quarrel  with  you." 

Colonel  Colquhoun  smiled.  "  Here  is  tea,"  he  said,  seeing  a 
servant  enter  the  room  behind  them.  "  Shall  we  have  it  out 
here  ?  We  shall  be  cooler." 

"  Yes,  by  all  means,"  she  answered. 

And  then  they  began  to  talk  of  things  indifferent,  but  with  a 
new  and  happy  consciousness  of  an  excellent  understanding 
between  them. 


348  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

I^HE  following  day,  as  Colonel  Colquhoun  went  out  in  the 
afternoon,  he  met  Evadne  coming  in  with  Mrs.  Malcom- 
son  and  Mrs.  Sillenger.  Evadne  was  leaning  on  Mrs.  Malcom- 
son's  arm.  She  looked  haggard  and  pale,  and  the  other  two 
ladies  were  evidently  also  much  distressed. 

"  Has  anything  happened  ?  "  Colquhoun  asked  with  concern. 
"  Are  you  ill,  Evadne  ?  " 

"  I  am  sick  at  heart,"  she  answered  bitterly. 

"We  have  had  bad  news,"  Mrs.  Malcomson  said  signifi 
cantly. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  stood  aside,  and  let  them  pass  in.  Then 
he  went  on  to  the  club,  wondering  very  much  what  the  news 
could  be. 

There  he  found  Captain  Belliot,  Colonel  Beston,  and  a  few 
more  of  his  particular  friends,  all  discussing  something  in  tones 
of  righteous  indignation.  Mr.  Price  and  Mr.  St.  John  were 
there  also.  A  mail  had  just  arrived  bringing  the  details  of 
Edith's  illness  from  Morningquest. 

Mr.  St.  John  turned  from  the  group,  and  as  he  did  so  Colonel 
Colquhoun  noticed  that  his  gait  was  uncertain,  and  his  face  was 
white  and  distorted  as  if  with  physical  pain.  His  impulse  was 
to  offer  him  a  restorative  and  see  him  to  his  rooms,  but  Mr. 
Price  anticipated  the  kind  intention. 

It  was  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  who  had  written  to  Evadne,  and  she 
had  brought  Mrs.  Sillenger  and  Mrs.  Malcomson  in  to  hear  the 
letter  read. 

"  Edith  is  quite,  quite  mad,"  she  said,  unconsciously  choos 
ing  the  poor  girl's  own  expression  ;  "  and  the  most  horrible 
part  of  it  is,  she  knows  it  herself.  She  wants  to  do  the  most 
dreadful  things,  and  all  the  time  she  feels  as  much  horror  of 
such  deeds  as  we  should.  My  aunt  says  her  sufferings  are  too 
terrible  to  describe.  But  she  was  growing  gradually  weaker 
when  the  letter  left." 

"  How  awful!  "  Mrs.  Sillenger  ejaculated.  "  To  think  of 
her  as  we  knew  her,  so  beautiful,  and  so  sweet  and  good  and 
true  in  every  way  ;  and  with  her  magnificent  physique  !  and 
now  not  a  soul  that  loves  her,  when  they  hear  that  she  is 
'  growing  gradually  weaker,'  would  wish  it  otherwise." 

"  My  aunt  concludes  her  letter  by  saying  :  "  I  am  telling  you 
the  state  of  the  case  exactly,'  "  Evadne  continued,  " '  because  I 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  349 

did  not  agree  with  you  when  you  were  here.  I  had  been  so 
shielded  from  evil  myself  that  I  could  not  believe  in  the  danger 
to  which  all  women  in  their  weakness  are  exposed.  But  I  agree 
with  you  now,  perfectly.  We  must  alter  all  this,  and  we  can. 
Put  me  into  communication  with  your  friends 

"And  you  will  join  us  yourself,  Evadne  ?  "  Mrs.  Malcomson 
exclaimed. 

"  Certainly  I  shall !  "  she  answered  emphatically.  Then  all 
at  once  something  flashed  through  her  mind. 

"  Heaven  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  had  forgotten  !  I  cannot — 
I  cannot  join  you.  I  have  given  my  word — to  do  nothing — so 
long  as  Colonel  Colquhoun  is  alive." 

Up  to  this  time,  Evadne  in  her  home  life  had  been  serene 
and  healthy  minded.  But  now  suddenly  there  came  a  change. 
She  began  to  ask  :  Why  should  she  trouble  herself  ?  Nobody 
wjio  had  a  claim  upon  her  wished  her  to  do  anything  but  dress 
well  and  make  herself  agreeable,  and  that  was  what  most  of  the 
people  about  her  were  doing  to  the  best  of  their  ability.  The 
Church  enjoined  that  she  should  do  her  duty.  What  was  her 
duty?  Clearly  to  acquiesce  as  everybody  else  was  doing,  to 
refuse  to  know  of  anything  that  might  distress  her,  to  be 
pleased  and  to  give  pleasure.  That  was  all  that  heaven  itself 
had  to  offer  her,  and  if  she  could  make  heaven  upon  earth 
now,  with  a  fan  and  a  book,  and  a  few  congenial  friends,  she 
would. 

This  was  the  first  consequence  of  her  promise  to  Colonel 
Colquhoun.  It  had  cramped  her  into  a  narrow  groove  wherein 
to  struggle  would  only  have  been  to  injure  herself  ineffectually. 
There  comes  a  time  when  every  intellectual  being  is  forced  to 
choose  some  definite  pursuits.  Evadne  had  been  formed  for  a 
life  of  active  usefulness  ;  but  now  she  found  herself  reduced  to 
an  existence  of  objectless  contemplation,  and  she  suffered 
acutely  until  she  had  recourse  to  St.  Paul  and  the  pulpit,  from 
which  barren  fields  she  succeeded  at  last  in  collecting  samples 
enough  to  make  up  a  dose  of  the  time-honoured  anodyne  sacred 
to  her  sex.  It  is  a  delicious  opiate  which  gives  immediate 
relief,  but  it  soothes  without  healing  and  is  in  the  long  run 
deleterious.  And  this  was  the  influence  under  which  Evadne 
entered  upon  a  new  phase  of  life  altogether.  She  gave  up 
reading ;  and  by  degrees  there  grew  upon  her  a  perfect  horror 
of  disturbing  emotions.  She  burnt  any  books  she  had  with 
repulsive  incidents  in  them.  She  would  not  have  them  about 
even,  lest  they  should  remind  her.  There  were  some  pictures 


35°  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

also  in  her  rooms  which  depicted  scenes  of  human  suffering-— 
a  battle  piece,  a  storm  at  sea,  a  caravan  lost  in  the  desert,  and 
a  prison  scene  ;  and  those  she  had  removed.  She  would  have 
ended  all  such  horrors  if  she  could,  but  as  that  was  impossible, 
she  would  not  even  think  of  them  ;  and  accordingly,  she  had 
those  pictures  replaced  by  soothing  subjects — moonlit  spaces, 
sun-bright  seas,  clear  brown  rivulets,  lakes  that  mirrored  the 
placid  mountains,  and  flowers  and  birds  and  trees.  She 
would  look  at  nothing  that  was  other  than  restful ;  she  would 
read  nothing  that  harrowed  her  feelings  ;  she  would  listen  to 
nothing  that  might  move  her  to  indignation  and  reawaken  the 
futile  impulse  to  resist  ;  and  she  banished  all  thought  or  reflec 
tion  that  was  not  absolutely  tranquillizing  in  effect  or  otherwise 
enjoyable. 

But  all  this  was  extremely  enervating.  She  had  owed  her 
force  of  character  to  her  incessant  intellectual  activity,  which 
had  also  kept  her  mind  pure,  and  her  body  in  excellent  con 
dition.  Had  she  not  found  an  outlet  for  her  superfluous 
vitality  as  a  girl  in  the  cultivation  of  her  mind,  she  must  have 
become  morbid  and  hysterical,  as  is  the  case  with  both  sexes 
when  they  remain  in  the  unnatural  state  of  celibacy  with 
mental  energy  unapplied.  We  are  like  running  water,  bright 
and  sparkling  so  long  as  the  course  is  clear  ;  but  divert  us  into 
unprogressive  shallows,  where  we  lie  motionless,  and  very  soon 
we  stagnate,  and  every  particle  of  life  within  us  becomes 
offence.  This  was  the  fate  which  threatened  Evadne.  As  her 
mind  grew  sluggish,  her  bodily  health  decreased,  and  the 
climate  began  to  tell  upon  her.  Malta  has  a  pel  fever  of  its 
own,  of  a  dangerous  kind,  from  which  she  had  hitherto  escaped, 
but  now,  quite  suddenly,  she  went  down  with  a  bad  attack,  and 
hovered  for  weeks  between  life  and  death.  Colonel  Colquhoun 
made  arrangements  to  take  her  home  as  soon  as  she  was 
sufficiently  strong  to  be  moved  ;  but  just  at  that  time  a  small 
war  broke  out,  and  his  regiment  was  one  of  the  first  to  be 
ordered  to  the  front.  He  was  able  to  see  her  off,  however, 
with  other  ladies  of  the  regiment,  and  he  telegraphed  to  her 
friends  begging  them  to  meet  her  at  Southampton.  The  hope 
of  seeing  them  sustained  Evadne  during  the  voyage,  but  when 
she  arrived  only  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  appeared.  The  latter  was 
shocked  by  the  change  in  Evadne.  Her  hair  had  been  cut 
short,  her  eyes  were  sunken,  her  cheeks  were  hollow  ;  she  was 
skin  and  bone,  and  the  colour  of  death. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  had  gone  on  board  the  steamer,  and  Evadne 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  35 1 

had  been  brought  up  on  deck,  supported  by  one  of  the  ladies 
and  her  own  maid. 

She  looked  at  her  aunt,  and  then  she  looked  beyond  her. 
"  Has  my  mother  not  come  to  meet  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  looked  at  her  compassionately. 

"  Is  she  ill  ?  "  Evadne  added. 

"  No,  dear,"  her  aunt  replied. 

Evadne  burst  into  tears.  It  was  a  bitter  disappointment, 
and  she  was  very  weak,  and  had  suffered  a  great  deal. 

After  her  arrival  her  pompous  papa  continued  u  firm,"  as  he 
called  it,  and  as  she  was  equally  "  firm  "  herself,  he  would  not 
have  her  at  Fraylingay.  He  repeated  that  if  there  were  one 
human  weakness  which  is  more  reprehensible  than  another,  it 
is  obstinacy,  and  he  told  Mrs.  Frayling  that  she  must  choose 
between  himself  and  Evadne.  If  she  preferred  the  latter,  she 
might  go  to  see  her,  but  she  should  not  return  to  him.  He 
meant  to  be  master  in  his  own  house — and  so  on,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  with  infinite  bluster — to  which  it  was  that  Mrs. 
Frayling  submitted.  She  never  could  bear  a  noise. 

Evadne,  therefore,  saw  nothing  of  her  mother  or  brothers  or 
sisters,  and  must  have  been  lonely,  indeed,  had  it  not  been  for 
Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  who  took  charge  of  her  and  nursed  her  and 
brought  her  round,  and  remained  with  her  until  Colonel  Colqu- 
houn  returned.  They  spent  most  of  their  time  in  the  Western 
Highlands,  but  stayed  also  in  London  and  Paris. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  was  absent  a  year,  and  made  the  most  of 
every  opportunity  to  distinguish  himself.  At  the  end  of  the 
war  he  was  made  C.  B.,  and  promoted  to  the  rank  of  colonel ; 
and,  his  time  with  his  regiment  having  expired,  he  was  further 
honoured  by  being  immediately  appointed  to  the  command  of 
the  depot  at  Morningquest.  Evadne  was  glad  to  see  him 
again.  She  had  missed  him,  and  had  waited  anxiously  for  his 
return.  She  had  no  one  to  care  for  in  his  absence,  no  one, 
that  is  to  say,  who  was  specially  her  charge,  to  be  attended  to 
and  made  comfortable.  He  had  narrowed  her  sphere  of  use 
fulness  down  to  that  by  the  promise  he  had  exacted,  and  in 
his  absence  she  had  what  to  her  was  a  useless,  purposeless 
existence,  wandering  about  from  place  to  place.  During  this 
period  she  made  few  notes  in  the  "  Commonplace  Book,"  but 
the  few  all  bore  witness  to  one  thing,  viz.,  her  ever  increasing 
horror  of  unpleasantness  in  any  shape  or  form. 

END   OF   BOOK  III. 


BOOK   IV. 

THE  TENOR  AND  THE  BOY.— AN 
INTERLUDE. 


His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  are  oracles  ; 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate  ; 
His  tears  pure  messengers  sent  from  his  heart, 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud  as  heaven  from  earth. 

—  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MORNINGQUEST,  with  the  sunset  glow  upon  it,  might  have 
made  you  think  of  Arthur's  "  dim  rich  city  "  ;  but  Morn- 
ingquest  had  already  flourished  a  thousand  years  longer  than 
Caerlyon,  and  was  just  as  many  times  more  wicked.  And  it 
was  known  to  be  so,  although  not  a  tithe  of  the  crimes  com 
mitted  in  it  were  ever  brought  to  light ;  but  even  of  those 
which  were  known  and  recorded,  no  man  could  have  told  you 
.the  half,  so  great  was  their  number.  Of  course,  as  the  place 
was  wicked,  the  doctors  were  well  to  the  fore,  combating  the 
wages  of  sin  gallantly  ;  and  the  lawyers  also,  needless  to  say, 
were  busy ;  and  so,  too,  were  the  clergy  in  their  own  way, 
ecclesiasticism  being  well-worked  ;  Christianity,  however,  was 
much  neglected,  so  that,  for  the  most  part,  the  devil  went  un 
molested  in  Morningquest,  and  had  a  good  time. 

There  were  seventy-five  churches  besides  the  cathedral 
within  the  city  boundary,  and  a  large  sprinkling  of  religious 
sects  of  all  denominations,  which  caused  ferment  enough  to 
prevent  stagnation  ;  and,  of  course,  where  so  many  churches 
were  the  clergy  swarmed,  and  were  made  the  subject  of  the 
usual  well-worn  pleasantries.  If  you  asked  what  good  they 
were  doing,  you  would  hear  that  nobody  knew  ;  but  you  would 
also  be  assured  that  at  all  events  they  were,  as  a  rule,  too  busy 
about  candles  and  vestments  and  what  not  of  that  kind  of 
thing,  discussing  such  questions  with  heat  enough  to  convince 
anyone  that  the  Lord  in  heaven  cares  greatly  about  the  use  of 
one  gaud  more  or  less  in  his  service,  to  do  much  harm.  But, 
upon  the  whole,  the  attitude  of  the  citizens  toward  the  clergy 
was  friendly  and  unexacting.  If  nobody  heeded  them  much, 
nobody  opposed  them  much  either,  so  that,  as  in  any  other 
profession,  they  enjoyed  the  liberty  of  earning  their  livelihood 
in  their  own  way.  The  people  considered  them  without 
reverence  as  a  part  of  the  population  merely  ;  their  services 
were  accepted  as  a  necessity  in  the  regular  routine  of  life  as 
bread-and-butter  was,  and  doubtless  they  did  good  in  some 
such  way,  although  the  one  was  as  much  forgotten  as  the  other 
before  it  was  well  assimilated.  If  the  citizens  mentioned  their 

355 


356  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

teaching  at  all,  it  was  merely  to  repeat  what  they  said  of  the 
clergy  themselves — that  it  did  no  harm. 

This  was  a  pleasantry  of  which  they  never  wearied;  but 
sometimes  they  would  add  to  it  another  article  of  their  faith. 
"The  Lord  is  gracious,"  they  would  declare,  "and  when 
he  sends  dull  preachers,  he  mercifully  sends  sleep  also  to 
comfort  his  afflicted  people."  So  the  preachers  preached,  and 
their  congregations  slumbered  tranquilly,  and  everbody  was 
satisfied.  If  the  clergy  squabbled  amongst  themselves,  and 
with  their  churchwardens,  their  fellow-citizens  were  rather 
grateful  to  them  than  otherwise  for  varying  the  monotony,  so 
that  they  were  encouraged  to  wage  their  internecine  combats 
to  their  hearts'  content ;  and  when  these  lapsed  and  they  let 
each  other  alone,  it  was  always  interesting  to  see  how  they 
turned  upon  the  bishop.  But  nobody  was  disturbed,  for  in 
such  a  sleepy  old  place — and  the  respectable  part  of  it  was 
sleepy  ! — men  habitually  view  the  vagaries  of  their  friends  with 
smiling  tolerance,  and  if  they  comment  upon  them  at  all,  it  is 
without  bitterness. 

In  general  history  there  are  always  events,  as  there  are 
people,  that  take  prominent  places  and  attract  attention  long 
after  similar  events  are  buried  and  forgotten.  They  owe  their 
vitality  less  to  their  importance,  perhaps,  than  to  some  gleam 
of  poetry,  pathos,  or  romance  which  distinguishes  the  actors  in 
them  ;  and  most  old  places  have  a  pet  tragedy  amongst  their 
traditions,  but  Morningquest  was  an  exception  to  this  rule,  for, 
although  it  had  its  particular  tragedy,  it  was  quite  a  new  one. 
From  the  first,  however,  it  was  easy  enough  to  foresee  that  this 
one  event  of  all  the  sorrowful  things  which  had  happened  in 
that  bad  old  place,  having  as  it  were  every  desirable  require 
ment  of  time,  setting,  and  person  to  invest  it  with  a  proper, 
permanent  and  most  pathetic  interest,  was  the  likeliest  one  to 
be  remembered. 

Morningquest  was  a  city  of  singers,  and  the  citizens  were 
proud  of  their  cathedral  choir,  which  was  chiefly  recruited  from 
amongst  themselves,  there  being  a  succession  of  exquisite  boy- 
voices  constantly  forthcoming  to  awaken  the  slumbering  echoes 
in  the  ancient  pile,  and  the  sweet  old  sentiments  in  the  people's 
hearts.  Some  of  the  lay  clerks  had  been  choristers  themselves, 
and  amongst  them  was  one  who  had  been  especially  noted  as  a 
boy  for  his  birdlike  treble.  It  seemed  a  thousand  pities  when 
it  broke  ;  but  as  he  reached  maturity,  he  found  himself  able  to 
ging  again,  and  eventually  he  developed  a  very  true,  if  not  very 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  357 

powerful  tenor  voice,  and  rose  in  time  to  be  the  leading  tenor 
in  the  choir.  People  had  flocked  to  hear  him  sing  in  his  child 
hood,  and  as  they  still  came,  it  was  natural  that  he  should  con 
tinue  to  think  himself  the  attraction,  and  also  natural  that  he 
should  be  somewhat  puffed  up  in  consequence.  He  wore  a 
moustache,  he  wore  a  ring,  he  put  on  airs,  he  scented  his  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  he  ogled  the  pretty  ladies  in  the  canon's  pew 
like  an  officer  ;  but  he  was  an  orphan,  and  had  a  poor  old 
kinswoman  depending  upon  him,  and  kept  her  well  ;  he  was 
harmless,  he  never  did  anyone  an  ill-turn,  nor  said  an  evil  thing, 
and  he  could  sing  ;  so  that,  taken  all  round,  his  good  qualities 
outweighed  his  weaknesses,  and  he  was  duly  allowed  the  measure 
of  praise  and  respect  which  he  earned. 

But  his  rings,  and  his  scents,  and  his  affectations  generally, 
covered  a  secret  ambition.  He  wanted  to  be  more  than  a  tenor 
in  the  choir  ;  he  wanted  to  be  an  opera  singer,  and  he  entered 
into  negotiations  with  a  London  impressario.  He  did  so  secretly, 
being  fearful  of  discouragement,  and  also  because  he  wished  to 
surprise  his  friends,  and  when  a  personal  interview  became 
necessary  he  did  not  ask  for  the  means  to  make  the  journey  ; 
he  had  the  management  of  the  choir  funds,  and  there  being  a 
surplus  in  his  hands  at  the  moment,  he  made  use  of  the  money, 
borrowing  it  in  perfect  good  faith,  and  honestly  sure  that  he 
would  be  able  to  repay  it  before  it  was  required  of  him.  Had 
he  succeeded,  the  money  would  have  been  returned  at  once  ; 
but,  alas,  he  did  not  succeed,  the  money  was  spent,  his  hopes 
were  shattered,  and  his  honest  career  was  at  an  end.  "  If  only 
he  had  come  to  me,  the  matter  might  have  been  put  right," 
the  dean  said,  and  he  publicly  reproached  himself  for  not  know 
ing  the  hearts  of  his  people  better,  so  that  he  might  have  entered 
with  sympathy  into  their  lives,  and  won  their  confidence. 
The  tenor  ought  to  have  trusted  him,  but  he  never  thought  of 
such  a  thing.  He  was  a  poor  crushed  creature,  and  had 
abandoned  hope.  But  he  went  back  to  Morningquest  never 
theless.  Indeed,  where  else  could  he  go  ?  He  knew  no  other 
place,  and  had  never  a  friend  elsewhere  in  the  world.  So  he 
went  back  mechanically,  and  he  went  to  the  cathedral,  and 
there  he  hid  himself.  And  there  three  times  a  day  for  three 
days  he  looked  down  from  the  clerestory,  himself  unseen, 
looked  into  the  faces  he  knew  so  well,  faces  which  had  been 
friendly  faces,  eyes  that  had  watched  him  kindly  all  his  life  ; 
and,  out  there  in  the  cold,  he  followed  the  services  at  which  he 
had  been  wont  to  assist,  taking  a  leading  part  almost  so  long  as 


35 8  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

he  could  remember.  And  there  in  the  grim  solitude  by  day, 
and  the  added  horror  of  ghostly  darkness  by  night,  he  lived  on 
thought,  and  suffered  his  agony  of  remorse,  and  the  minor 
miseries  of  cold  and  hunger  and  thirst,  till  the  need  of  endur 
ance  ceased  to  be  felt.  And  then,  amid  the  misty  morning 
grayness  of  the  fourth  day  he  hanged  himself  from  a  ladder 
left  by  some  workmen  engaged  in  repairs,  by  whotn  his  body 
was  afterward  found  desecrating  the  sacred  precincts. 

These  are  the  materials  out  of  which  Morningquest  wove  its 
pet  tragedy.  The  event  happened  at  the  beginning  of  that 
important  year  which  the  Heavenly  Twins  spent  with  their 
grandfather  at  Morne,  and  doubtless  they  heard  all  about  it, 
but,  being  very  much  occupied  with  a  variety  of  absorbing 
interests  at  the  time,  it  did  not  make  any  particular  impression 
upon  them.  It  was  brought  home  to  them  eventually,  how 
ever,  when  it  might  have  been  considered  an  old  story  ;  but  it 
had  not  become  so  then  in  anybody's  estimation,  nor  has  it 
since  because  of  the  pity  of  it  which  lent  the  pathetic  interest 
that  makes  a  story  deathless  and  ageless  ;  the  subtle  something 
which  influences  to  better  moods,  and  from  which  the  years  as 
they  pass  do  not  detract,  but  rather  pay  it  the  tribute  of  an 
occasional  addition  thereto,  by  which  its  hope  of  immortality  is 
greatly  strengthened. 

After  the  tenor's  death,  the  difficulty  had  been  who  should 
succeed  him.  There  was  nobody  immediately  forthcoming, 
and  this  had  put  the  dean  and  chapter  in  a  fix,  for  it  happened 
that  there  were  services  of  particular  importance  going  on  in 
the  cathedral  at  the  time,  to  which  strangers  flocked  from  a 
distance,  and  it  was  felt  that  it  would  never  do  to  disapppoint 
them  of  their  music.  So,  on  the  morning  of  the  great  day  of 
all,  after  the  early  service,  the  dean,  the  precentor,  and  the 
organist,  having  doffed  their  surplices,  returned  to  the  choir, 
and  stood  for  some  time  beside  the  brazen  lectern,  discussing 
the  subject. 

While  they  were  so  engaged,  a  gentleman  came  up  to  the 
dean,  and,  after  making  a  graceful  apology  for  the  intrusion, 
explained  that  he  had  heard  of  their  difficulty,  and  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  sing  the  tenor  part,  and  a  solo,  at  the  afternoon 
service. 

The  dean  looked  doubtful  ;  the  precentor,  judging  by  the 
stranger's  appearance  and  tone  that  he  might  be  somebody,  was 
inclined  to  be  obsequious  ;  the  organist  struck  a  neutral  attitude, 
and  stood  by  ready  to  agree  to  anything. 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS.  359 

"  I  can  sing,"  the  applicant  said  modestly,  answering  the 
doubt  he  saw  in  the  dean's  demeanour  ;  *'  although  I  confess 
that  I  have  not  been  doing  so  lately.  I  think  I  may  venture 
to  promise,  however,  that  I  shall  not,  at  all  events,  spoil  the 
service." 

"  Well,  sir,"  the  dean  replied,  "  if  you  can  help  us,  you  will 
really  be  putting  us  under  a  great  obligation,  for  we  are  in  a 
most  awkward  dilemma.  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Precentor  ?" 

**  I  should  say,  as  the  organist  is  here,  if  this  gentleman  would 
try  his  part  this  morning ' 

"  That  is  what  I  was  about  to  suggest,"  the  stranger  inter 
posed. 

The  precentor  found  the  music,  the  organist  retired  to  his 
instrument,  the  dean  took  a  seat,  and  the  stranger  sang.  When 
he  paused,  the  dean  arose. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  he  said  with  effusion,  "  and  I  gratefully 
accept  your  offer." 

The  stranger  bowed  to  his  little  audience,  returned  the  music, 
and  left  the  building. 

He  was  a  young  man,  tall  and  striking  in  appearance  ;  clean 
shaven,  with  delicate  features,  dark, dreamy  gray  eyes,  and  a 
tumbled  mop  of  golden  hair,  innocent  of  parting.  He  was 
well-dressed,  but  his  clothes  hung  upon  him  loosely,  as  if  he 
had  grown  thinner  since  they  were  made  ;  his  face  was  pale  too, 
and  pinched  in  appearance,  and  his  movements  were  languid, 
giving  him  altogether  the  air  of  a  man  just  recovering  from 
some  serious  illness.  That  he  was  a  gentleman  no  one  would 
have  doubted  for  a  moment,  nor  would  they  have  been  surprised 
to  hear  that  he  was  a  great  man  in  the  sense  of  being  a  peer  or 
something  of  that  kind,  for  there  was  that  indefinable  some 
thing  in  his  look  and  bearing  which  people  call  aristocratic, 
and  his  manner  was  calm  and  assured  like  that  of  a  well-bred 
man  of  the  world  accustomed  to  good  society. 

The  people  who  flocked  to  the  afternoon  service  that  day 
regarded  him  with  much  curiosity,  and  he  was  certainly  unlike 
anyone  whom  they  had  hitherto  seen  in  the  choir.  A  surplice 
had  been  found  for  him,  and  the  dead  white  contrasted  well 
with  the  brightness  of  his  hair,  and  made  the  refined  beauty  of 
his  face  even  more  remarkable  than  it  had  been  in  his  morning 
dress.  Sitting  with  the  lay  clerks  behind  the  choristers,  he 
looked  like  the  representative  of  another  and  a  higher  race,  and 
even  those  of  them  whose  personal  attractions  had  hitherto 
been  considered  more  than  merely  passable  when  they  appeared 


'  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y   TWIttS. 

beside  him  were  suddenly  seen  to  be  hopelessly  commonplace. 
But,  although  the  interest  he  excited  was  evident  enough,  it 
was  equally  evident  that  he  himself  remained  quite  unaware  of 
it.  In  his  whole  bearing  there  was  not  the  slightest  assump 
tion.  He  entered  with  the  choir,  and  might  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  doing  so  all  his  life,  so  perfectly  unconscious  did  he 
seem  of  anything  new  or  strange  in  the  position.  As  soon  as 
he  was  seated,  without  even  glancing  at  the  people,  he  had 
taken  up  his  music,  and  continued  lost  in  the  study  of  it  until 
the  service  opened  ;  and  then  he  sang  his  part  with  ease  and 
precision,  which,  however,  attracted  less  attention  at  the  moment 
than  his  appearance.  The  rest  of  the  choir,  animated  by  his 
presence,  exerted  themselves  to  the  utmost,  but  were  too 
delighted  with  their  own  performances  to  think  much  of  his 
before  the  solo  began. 

Then,  however,  they  awoke.  The  first  note  he  uttered  was 
a  long  crescendo  of  such  rich  volume  and  so  sweet,  that  the 
people  held  their  breath  and  looked  up  : 

This  world  recedes  ;  it  disappears  ! 

Heaven  opens  my  eyes  !  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring  : 

Lend,  lend  your  wings  !  I  mount !  I  fly  ! 

O  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  Death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 


It  was  as  if  a  delicious  spell  had  been  cast  upon  the  congrega 
tion,  which  held  them  bound  until  the  last  note  of  the  exquisite 
voice,  even  the  last  reverberation  of  the  organ  accompaniment, 
had  trembled  into  silence,  and  then  there  was  a  movement,  a 
flutter,  a  great  sigh  of  relief  heaved,  so  to  speak,  as  if  the 
pleasure  had  been  too  great,  and  nerves  and  senses  were  glad 
to  be  released  from  the  tension  of  it. 

The  Tenor  was  slightly  flushed  when  he  resumed  his  seat, 
but  otherwise  his  face  was  as  serenely  impassive  as  ever. 

"  It  is  some  great  singer  from  abroad,"  the  people  whispered 
to  each  other.  "  He  is  used  to  every  kind  of  success,  and  does 
not  even  trouble  himself  to  see  if  we  are  pleased.  He  has 
sung  doubtless  to  gratify  some  whim  of  his  own.  Such  artists 
are  capricious  folk."  To  which  the  answer  was  :  "  Long  may 
such  whims  continue  ! " 

After  the  service,  the  dean  hastened  to  thank  the  stranger. 
He  shook  his  hand  with  emotion,  and  congratulated  him  upon 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  3^* 

his  marvellous  gift.  "  May  I  ask  if  you  are  a  professional 
singer?  "  the  old  gentleman  said. 

"Not  yet,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  but  I  wish  to  offer  myself  for 
the  vacant  post  of  Tenor  in  the  choir,  if  you  are  satisfied  with 
my  attainments." 

The  dean  stared  at  him.  "  Oh — ah — "  he  stammered  in  his 
surprise  ;  and  then  he  added  something  apologetically  about 
references,  and  being  obliged  to  ask  a  few  questions. 

"  If  you  have  the  time  to  spare,  I  think  I  can  satisfy  you 
now,"  the  stranger  answered. 

The  dean,  perceiving  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  him  alone, 
bowed  courteously,  and  requested  the  applicant  to  accompany 
him  to  the  deanery.  The  precentor,  who  had  assisted  at  the 
interview  up  to  this  point,  now  watched  them  depart,  and  as  he 
did  so  he  pursed  up  his  lips  significantly.  The  stranger  had 
sunk  in  his  estimation  from  the  possible  rank  of  a  Russian 
prince  to  that  of  a  simple  singer,  a  considerable  drop  ;  but  the 
precentor  was  a  musician,  and  he  asserted  that  the  voice  was 
of  the  finest  quality,  and  trained  to  perfection.  He  wanted  to 
know,  however,  what  could  bring  a  man  with  a  fortune  like 
that  in  his  throat  to  bury  himself  alive  in  Morningquest,  and  he 
ventured  to  predict  that  it  must  be  something  "  fishy." 

The  stranger  had  a  long  private  interview  with  the  dean,  but 
what  transpired  thereat  was  never  made  public.  It  was  known, 
however,  that  when  he  left  the  deanery  the  dean  himself 
accompanied  him  to  the  door,  and  there  shook  hands  with  him 
cordially  ;  and  it  was  immediately  afterward  announced  that 
"  Mr.  Jones  "  was  to  be  the  new  tenor. 

"  Mr.  Jones,  indeed ! "  said  Morningquest  sarcastically. 
"  As  much  Jones  as  the  bishop !  "  And  the  precentor  was 
sure  that  the  dean  had  been  taken  in  by  a  clever  impostor, 
which  would  not  have  been  the  case,  he  asserted,  if  the  matter 
had  been  referred  to  him  as  it  ought  to  have  been.  But  Morn 
ingquest  declared  that  there  was  no  imposition  about  that  voice, 
and  as  to  antecedents,  why,  it  was  absurd  to  be  too  particular 
when  everything  else  was  so  entirely  satisfactory. 

There  happened  to  be  a  tiny  tenement  in  the  Close  vacant 
when  the  new  lay  clerk  began  his  duties  as  Tenor  in  the  choir, 
and  this  he  took.  It  was  a  detached  house,  one  of  a  row  which 
faced  the  apse  on  the  south  side  of  the  cathedral.  One  step 
led  down  from  the  road  into  the  little  front  garden,  and  another 
from  that  into  the  house,  which  was  thus  two  steps  below  the 
road  in  front,  but  was  level  with  the  garden  at  the  back.  The 


3<>*  TITE  HEAVENLY   TWTNS. 

passage  ran  right  through  the  house,  the  garden  door  being 
opposite  the  front  door  ;  the  kitchen  was  behind  a  little  sitting 
room  on  the  right  as  you  entered,  and  on  the  left  were  two 
other  rooms  when  the  Tenor  took  the  house,  the  one  looking 
into  the  back  garden,  the  other  into  the  front  ;  but  these  two 
rooms  he  immediately  turned  into  one  by  having  the  dividing 
wall  removed,  and  together  they  made  a  long,  low,  but  com 
fortably  proportioned  apartment,  with  a  French  window  at 
either  end.  The  Tenor  spent  all  his  spare  time  when  he  first 
arrived  in  decorating  this  room,  "making  work  for  himself,"  as 
the  people  said  ;  and  indeed  that  was  just  what  he  seemed  to 
be  doing,  for  he  worked  as  a  man  does  who  feels  that  he  ought 
to  be  occupied,  but  he  takes  no  pleasure  and  finds  no  relief  in 
any  occupation.  He  frescoed  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  his  room 
with  admirable  taste  and  skill,  making  it  look  twice  the  size  by 
cunning  divisions  of  the  pattern  on  the  walls,  and  by  the  well- 
devised  proportions  of  dado  and  cornice. 

The  dean  often  went  to  watch  him  at  his  work,  and  sat  on  a 
packing  case  (the  only  article  which  the  room  contained  at  the 
time)  by  the  hour  together  talking  to  him,  a  circumstance 
which,  taken  with  the  fact  that  other  gentlemen  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  also  called  upon  him  and  lingered  long  on  the 
premises,  greatly  exercised  the  inquisitive  minds  of  the  multi 
tude,  especially  when  it  was  perceived  that  the  Tenor,  instead 
of  being  elated  by  their  condescension,  accepted  it  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  continued  always  the  same — sad,  preoccupied, 
impassive,  seldom  smiling,  never  surprised,  taking  no  healthy 
interest  in  anything. 

When  the  painting  was  finished,  furniture  began  to  arrive^ 
and  this  was  another  surprise  for  the  Close,  where  houses  were 
not  adorned  with  the  designs  of  any  one  period,  but  were  filled 
with  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  articles,  generally  aged  and 
remarkably  uncouth.  Everything  in  the  Tenor's  long  low  room, 
on  the  contrary,  even  down  to  the  shape  of  the  brass  coal  scuttle 
and  including  the  case  of  the  grand  piano,  was  in  harmony  with 
the  colour  and  design  of  the  frescoes  on  the  walls  and  ceiling  ; 
the  floor,  which  was  polished,  being  adorned  here  and  there  with 
rugs  which  suggested  dim  reflections  of  the  tint  and  tone  above. 
It  was  a  luxurious  apartment,  but  not  effeminate.  The  luxury 
was  masculine  luxury,  refined  and  significant  ;  there  was  no 
meaningless  feminine  fripperies  about,  nor  was  there  any  evi 
dence  of  sensuous  self-indulgence.  It  was  the  abode  of  a 
cultivated  man,  but  of  one  who  was  essentially  manly  withal. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  363 

The  fame  of  this  apartment  having  been  noised  abroad,  the 
precentor  came  one  day  to  inspect  it.  There  is  no  need  to 
describe  this  precentor ;  one  knows  exactly  what  a  man  must 
be  who  calls  things  "fishy."  He  was  an  ordained  clergyman, 
but  not  at  all  benevolent,  neither  was  he  a  Christian,  for  he  did 
not  love  his  neighbour  as  himself,  and  his  visit  on  this  occasion 
was  anything  but  friendly  in  intention.  He  was  determined  to 
know  something  more  about  the  Tenor,  he  said,  and  he  meant 
to  question  him.  His  .theory  was  that  the  Tenor  had  been  a 
public  singer,  but  had  disgraced  himself,  and  was  unable  to 
appear  again  in  consequence  ;  and  on  this  supposition  he 
intended  to  proceed. 

He  found  the  Tenor  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  on  the  point  of 
leaving  the  house  ;  but  the  precentor  was  not  delicate  about 
detaining  him.  He  walked  into  the  sitting  room  without  wait 
ing  to  be  asked,  pried  impertinently  into  everything,  and  then 
sat  down.  The  Tenor  meantime  had  remained  standing  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand  patiently  waiting,  and  he  still  stood,  but  the 
precentor  did  not  take  the  hint. 

"You  are  an  opera  singer,  I  think  you  said,"  he  remarked  as 
soon  as  he  was  seated. 

The  Tenor  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Or  was  it  concerts?  "  he  suggested,  a  trifle  disconcerted. 

The  Tenor  looked  gravely  amused. 

"  It  was  not  the  music  halls,  of  course  ?  "  the  precentor  per 
suasively  insinuated. 

"  Well,  hardly,"  said  the  Tenor,  fixing  his  steady  eyes  upon 
the  man  in  a  way  that  made  him  wince.  "  I  have  some  busi 
ness  to  attend  to  in  the  town,"  he  added.  "  Pray  make  your 
self  at  home  so  long  as  it  pleases  you  to  remain  ;  "  with  which 
he  brushed  his  hand  back  over  his  glossy  hair,  put  on  his  hat, 
and  sauntered  out,  leaving  his  gentle  guest  to  ruminate. 

The  interest  which  the  Tenor  had  begun  by  exciting  in  the 
breasts  of  the  quiet  inhabitants  of  Morningquest  did  not  dimin 
ish  all  at  once,  as  might  have  been  expected.  He  was  only  a 
lay  clerk,  to  be  sure,  but  then  he  was  so  utterly  unlike  any  other 
lay  clerk.  He  was  always  so  carefully  dressed,  for  one  thing, 
and  maintained  so  successfully  that  suggestion  of  good  breeding 
which  had  been  their  first  impression  of  him  ;  was  altogether 
so  distinguished  in  appearance  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  hear 
strangers  exclaim  :  "  Who  is  that  ?  "  and  to  be  able  to  surprise 
them  with  the  off-hand  rejoinder;  "Oh,  that  is  only  our 
tenor." 


364  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Then  he  was  a  stranger  from  nobody  knew  where  ;  he  went 
by  the  name  of  "  Jones,"  which  was  not  believed  to  be  his  ;  he 
had  a  magnificent  voice,  and  he  remained  in  Morningquest  in 
an  obscure  position,  making  nothing  of  it.  True,  he  must  have 
means  ;  but  what  after  all  were  the  means  which  he  appeared 
to  possess  compared  with  the  means  which  he  might  be  enjoy 
ing  ?  And  further — and  this  was  considered  the  most  extra 
ordinary  circumstance  of  all — there  was  his  attitude  in  the 
cathedral.  He  followed  the  services  devoutly  ;  and  such  a 
thing  as  attention,  let  alone  devotion,  on  the  part  of  a  lay  clerk 
had  never  been  heard  of  in  Morningquest.  There  was  not  even 
a  remote  tradition  in  existence  to  prepare  anybody's  mind  for 
such  a  contingency. 

So  that  altogether  the  man  was  a  mystery  ;  a  mystery,  how 
ever,  toward  which  the  kindly  people  were  well-disposed. 
And  no  wonder.  For  the  Tenor's  manners  were  as  attractive  as 
his  appearance,  and  his  ways  were  not  at  all  mysterious  when 
considered  apart  from  the  points  already  indicated,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  simple  in  the  extreme  :  the  ways  of  one  who  is  kindly 
courteous  and  considerate  on  all  occasions,  paying  proper 
respect  to  every  man,  and  also  rigorously  exacting  from  each 
the  respect  that  was  due  to  himself.  He  would  always  see 
people  who  called  upon  him,  and  though  it  was  believed  that 
he  would  rather  not  have  been  disturbed,  he  was  too  much  of 
a  gentleman  to  show  it.  In  fact,  it  was  agreed  that  he  was  a 
gentleman  before  everything,  and  not  at  all  like  a  "  Jones  "  ; 
and  therefore,  acting  on  some  instinctive  perception  of  the  fit 
ness  of  things,  the  citizens  dropped  the  offensive  appellation 
altogether  and  called  him  "  the  Tenor  "  simply,  as  they  might 
have  called  him  "  the  Duke." 

There  was  at  first  a  good  deal  of  wonder  as  to  where  the 
money  came  from  with  which  he  furnished  his  little  house  in  the 
Close.  How  did  he  manage  to  buy  so  many  books  and  pietures  ? 
and  how  could  he  afford  to  give  so  much  away  in  charity  ? 
For  it  was  known  beyond  a  doubt  that  he  had  on  more  than 
one  occasion  relieved  the  families  of  the  other  singers,  and  had 
relieved  them,  too,  in  a  most  substantial  way.  It  was  evident 
that  he  had  means  ;  but  if  he  had  means,  why  did  he  sing  in 
the  choir  ?  This  question  was  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  all 
that  concerned  him. 

It  was  asked  everywhere  and  by  everybody  ;  but  no  one 
could  answer  it  save  the  dean,  who  was  not  to  be  approached 
upon  the  subject.  Finally,  however,  people  grew  tired  of  form- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  365 

ing  conjectures  which  were  neither  denied  nor  affirmed,  and, 
becoming  accustomed  to  the  Tenor's  presence  amongst  them, 
they  ceased  as  a  regular  thing  to  discuss  his  affairs. 

But  this  was  not  the  case  until  a  story  had  been  circulated 
about  him  which  was  generally  believed,  although  nobody  knew 
from  whence  it  emanated.  He  was,  according  to  the  story,  the 
illegitimate  son  of  an  actress,  and  some  great — in-the-sense-of- 
having-a-title — man,  from  whom  he  inherited  his  aristocratic 
appearance  and  a  small  income.  His  mother,  it  was  said,  had 
been  an  opera  singer,  which  accounted  for  his  voice  ;  and  shame, 
they  declared,  on  the  discovery  of  his  birth,  had  driven  him  into 
his  present  retirement,  and  caused  him  to  renounce  the  world. 
As  this  story  accounted  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner  for  all 
that  was  strange  about  him,  it  was  regarded  in  every  respect  as 
authentic  ;  and,  after  the  wickedness  of  titled  men  and  the 
frailty  of  acting  women  had  been  freely  commented  upon  with 
much  sage  shaking  of  the  head,  as  if  only  titled  men  were 
wicked  and  acting  women  frail,  and  Morningquest  itself  was  a 
saintly  city,  innocent  of  any  deed  not  strictly  in  accordance 
with  its  word,  the  matter  was  allowed  to  drop,  and  the  Tenor 
was  left  to  "  gang  his  ain  gait,"  which  he  would  have  done  in 
any  case,  probably,  but  which  he  continued  to  do  in  a  quiet, 
earnest,  regular  way  that  won  him  a  friendly  feeling  from  most 
men,  and  more  than  his  share  of  sympathy  and  attention  from 
the  good  women  who  had  not  self-love  enough  to  be  wounded 
by  his  indifference.  Unsophisticated  little  maidens,  just  bud 
ding  into  womanhood,  would  peep  after  him  shyly  from  the 
old-fashioned  houses  sometimes,  and  would  feel  in  their  tender 
little  hearts  a  gentle  pity  for  one  who  was  so  handsome  and  so 
unfortunate.  Like  the  true  hero  of  romance,  he  was  believed 
by  them  to  be  supremely  unhappy,  and  all  they  asked  was  to  be 
allowed  to  comfort  him  ;  but  he  noticed  none  of  them.  And 
so  the  little  maidens  blushed  at  first  for  having  thought  of  him 
at  all,  and  then  forgot  him  for  somebody' else  ;  or,  if  the  some 
body  else  did  not  come  quickly,  they  began  to  regard  the 
Tenor  with  a  totally  different  feeling — almost  as  if  he  had 
wronged  them  in  some  way.  But  the  Tenor  continued  to  "  gang 
his  ain  gait,"  and  was  alike  indifferent  to  their  pity  or  their  spite. 

His  little  house,  like  most  of  those  in  the  Close,  had  an  old 
walled  garden  behind  it,  a  large  garden  for  the  size  of  the 
house,  and  so  sheltered  that  many  things  grew  there  which 
would  not  grow  elsewhere  in  the  open.  The  house  itself  was 
picturesque  on  that  side,  having  a  bright  south  aspect  favour- 


366  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

able  to  the  growth  of  creepers,  with  which  it  was  thickly 
covered,  jasmine,  clematis,  honeysuckle,  and  roses  succeeding 
each  other  in  their  regular  order  ;  and  the  garden  was  always 
full  of  flowers.  It  was  here  that  the  Tenor  spent  much  of  his 
time,  hard  at  work.  He  had  evidently  a  passion  for  flowers, 
and  was  a  most  successful  gardener,  the  conservatory  and 
orchid  house,  which  he  had  had  built  soon  after  his  arrival, 
being  always  lovely  even  in  the  winter.  The  building  of  these 
two  houses  was  considered  an  extravagance,  and  had  caused 
the  Close  to  point  the  finger  at  him  for  a  while  ;  but  when 
someone  declared  that  the  unfortunate  Tenor  had  probably  in 
herited  much  of  his  mother's  recklessness,  and  was  not  there 
fore  responsible  as  other  people  were,  the  suggestion  was  con 
sidered  reasonable  enough,  and  from  that  time  forward  the 
Tenor's  expensive  tastes  were  held  to  be  separate  matter  for 
commiseration  ;  the  truth  being  that  Morningquest  could  not 
bear  to  be  on  bad  terms  with  the  Tenor,  and  would  have  found 
an  excuse  for  him  had  he  outraged  the  best  preserved  pre 
judices  it  ever  held. 

It  was  only  necessary  to  glance  at  the  Tenor's  books  to  per 
ceive  that  he  was  a  student.  Many  valuable  works  in  many 
languages  were  scattered  about  his  house,  and  it  was  a  well- 
known  fact  that  he  spent  much  of  his  leisure  in  poring  over 
these.  To  what  end  his  studies  might  be  directed  no  one,  of 
course,  could  tell,  but  it  was  assumed  that  he  had  acquired  a 
respectable  amount  of  knowledge  from  the  fact  that  the  dean, 
himself  a  learned  man,  delighted  not  a  little  in  his  conversa 
tion.  When  this  fact  had  been  fully  ascertained  by  careful 
observation,  smouldering  curiosity  blazed  up  afresh,  and  sur 
mise  was  once  more  busy  with  the  Tenor's  name.  Did  he 
write  for  the  magazines,  they  wondered?  It  seemed  likely 
enough,  for  it  was  notorious  in  Morningquest  that  people  who 
did  that  kind  of  thing  were  not  like  the  rest  of  the  world  ; 
and  it  soon  came  to  pass  that  certain  articles  relating  to  various 
things,  such  as  drainage,  deep  sea  fishery,  the  coinage  of 
Greece,  competitive  examinations  in  China,  and  essays  on 
other  subjects  likely  to  interest  an  artistic  man,  were  confi 
dently  assumed  to  be  his.  And  the  shy  little  girls  in  the  old- 
fashioned  houses,  who  never  looked  at  anything  in  the  maga 
zines  but  the  pictures  and  the  poetry,  were  wont  to  credit  him 
with  certain  passionate  lays  from  which  they  got  quite  new 
ideas  of  eyes  and  dies  and  sighs,  and  other  striking  rhymes  to 
musical  metres  which  made  their  little  hearts  throb  pleasurably. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  367 

But  nothing  more  definite  was  known  of  the  Tenor's  labours 
than  was  known  of  anything  else  concerning  him  ;  and,  for 
tunately  for  himself,  there  was  that  in  his  bearing  which  pre 
served  him  from  being  personally  annoyed  by  impertinent 
curiosity,  so  that  he  was  most  probably  pretty  nearly  the  only 
person  in  the  city  who  had  no  idea  of  the  interest  he  himself 
excited. 

Two  years  had  glided  by  in  great  apparent  tranquillity  since 
the  day  the  Tenor  entered  the  choir  ;  two  years,  during  which 
he  had  trodden  the  path  of  life  so  uprightly,  and  so  purely, 
that  not  even  a  suspicion  of  wrong-doing  was  ever  breathed 
against  him  by  gentle  or  simple,  good  or  bad.  It  was  a  calm 
and  passionless  existence  that  he  led,  the  life  of  an  ascetic,  but 
of  a  cultivated  ascetic,  devoted  to  the  highest  intellectual  pur 
suits,  and  actuated  by  the  belief  that  their  value  consisted,  not 
in  their  market  price,  nor  in  the  amount  of  attention  called 
fame,  which  they  might  attract  to  himself,  but  in  the  pleasure 
they  gave  and  in  the  good  they  did.  Many  a  weary  man 
whose  life  had  been  wasted  in  the  toil  of  bringing  himself 
before  the  world,  when  he  had  reached  the  summit  of  his  am 
bition,  might  well  have  envied  the  Tenor  his  placid  coun 
tenance  and  untroubled  lot ;  some  might  even  have  perceived 
that  there  was  more  of  poetry  than  of  commonplace  in  the 
quiet  life  which  glided  on  so  evenly,  soothed  by  the  cathedral 
services,  cheered  by  the  chime,  and  guarded  by  the  shadow  of 
its  gray  protecting  walls. 

The  Tenor's  cheeks  had  been  haggard  and  worn  when  he 
first  settled  in  Morningquest,  and  dark  circles  round  his  eyes 
had  betokened  sleepless  nights,  and  the  ceaseless  gnawing 
ache  of  a  great  grief.  But  all  that  had  passed  as  the  days 
wore  on,  giving  place  to  a  settled  expression  of  peace — peace 
tinged  with  a  certain  sadness,  but  dignified  by  resignation. 
Gradually,  too,  although  he  remained  slender,  he  ceased  to  be 
emaciated,  and  his  cheeks  assumed  a  healthy  hue  that  very 
well  became  them. 


CHAPTER   II. 

IT  was  thought  at  first  that  the  dean's  intimacy  with  the  new 
Tenor  arose  from  a  sense  of  duty  sharpened  by  the  feeling 
of  self-reproach  with  which  he  had  regarded  his  fancied  neg 
lect  of  the  old  one ;  but,  however  that  might  have  been,  it  was 


368  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

continued  from  a  genuine  liking  for  the  man  himself.  No  one 
in  Morningquest  knew  the  Tenor  half  so  well  as  the  dean  did, 
no  one  could  have  had  a  truer  regard  for  him,  or  watched  the 
passing  of  his  trouble  with  more  affectionate  interest,  or  noted 
the  change  for  the  better  which  had  been  wrought  by  the  regu 
lar  occupation  of  those  peaceful  days  with  greater  satisfaction. 
The  dean  knew  the  Tenor's  story,  so  that  their  relations  might 
be  called  confidential ;  but  for  two  years  no  allusion  had  been 
made  by  either  of  them  to  the  past,  neither  had  any  plans  been 
formed  for  the  future. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  however,  the  dean  noticed  signs  of 
awakening  energy  in  his  friend.  The  Tenor  performed  his 
duties  less  mechanically.  His  appathy  was  broken  by  fits  of 
restlessness.  He  had  found  the  mornings  long  lately  ;  he  had 
thought  the  afternoons  objectless  ;  and  when  evening  came 
and  the  lamps  were  lighted,  he  wearied  of  his  books  and  music, 
and  chafed  a  little  for  something,  not  change  exactly  ;  but  he 
was  conscious  of  a  desire — and  this  he  only  felt  at  times — a 
desire  for  some  trifling  human  interest  which  should  make  the 
life  he  was  leading  fuller.  He  had  awakened,  in  fact,  from  his 
long  lethargy,  and  found  himself  alone. 

The  Dean  of  Morningquest  was  a  remarkable  man.  He  had 
the  fine  physique,  the  high-breeding,  and  the  scholarly  reputa 
tion  common  to  that  order  of  divines  who  keep  up  the  dignity 
of  the  Church  without  doing  much  for  Christianity.  In  person 
he  was  tall,  but  stooped  from  the  shoulders.  He  had  white 
hair,  a  fine  intellectual  face  ;  fresh,  and  with  that  young  look 
in  it  which  has  been  called  saint-like,  and  is  only  seen  on  the 
faces  of  those  in  whom  passion  has  not  died  a  natural  death  as 
the  vital  powers  decay,  but  has  been  brought  into  subjection, 
and  made  to  do  good  work  instead  of  evil.  No  man  consorted 
more  habitually  with  his  equals,  or  seldomer  entertained  the 
notion  that  there  were  such  people  in  the  world  as  his  inferiors. 
He  practised  his  religion  to  the  last  letter  of  church  law, 
and  worshipped  Christ  the  Son  of  God ;  but  there  is  no  doubt 
that  he  would  have  turned  his  exclusive  back  on  Christ  the  car 
penter's  son,  and  had  him  prosecuted  for  an  impostor  had  he 
presented  himself  with  no  better  pedigree.  He  could  tell  the 
story  of  the  Saviour's  sufferings  with  infinite  pathos  because  he 
knew  who  the  Saviour  was  ;  but  he  could  not  have  told  the 
same  story  with  the  same  power  had  the  hero  of  it  been  merely 
one  common  man  sacrificing  his  life  for  others.  What  affected 
the  dean  was  the  enormous  condescension.  It  was  the  great* 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  369 

ness  of  the  Man,  not  the  greatness  of  the  deed,  that  appealed  to 
him.  A  poor  tradesman  might  sacrifice  his  life  nobly  also  ;  but, 
then,  what  is  the  life  of  a  tradesman  comparatively  speaking  ? 

People  called  the  dean  proud  and  worldly  wise,  but  this  was 
not  true  of  him.  He  may  have  believed  that  all  the  people  of 
Palestine  belonged  to  county  families,  and  were  therefore 
called  the  chosen  people,  but  he  never  said  so.  A  certain 
gentle  humility  of  demeanour  always  distinguished  him,  no 
matter  to  whom  he  spoke  ;  and  he  was  without  doubt  a  thor 
oughly  good  nineteenth  century  churchman,  living  at  his  own 
level,  of  course,  and  true  to  his  caste,  toward  the  weaknesses 
of  which  he  exercised  much  charity  and  forbearance,  while  he 
expressed  his  condemnation  of  its  sins  by  rigorously  excluding 
from  his  family  circle  any  member  of  it  who  had  been  openly 
convicted  of  disgraceful  conduct,  just  as  he  excluded  profes 
sional  men  and  other  common  citizens  when  they  held  no 
official  position  which  he  was  obliged  to  recognize,  and  were 
not  connected  with  the  landed  gentry.  But  these  were  the 
characteristics  of  his  position,  for  as  a  dean  he  was  required  to 
be  the  slave  of  precedent ;  as  a  man,  however,  he  was  known 
to  be  just  and  generous,  and  an  excellent  good  friend  to  all 
who  had  any  claim  upon  him,  from  the  bishop  who  governed 
him  down  to  the  humblest  chorister  in  the  cathedral  which  he 
governed. 

It  was  in  the  early  spring  when  the  dean  first  noticed  what 
he  took  to  be  a  change  for  the  better  in  the  Tenor's  attitude 
toward  life  at  large.  The  dean  was  susceptible  himself  to 
kindly  changes  in  the  season  ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that,  con 
trary  to  all  precedent,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  tempted  out 
after  dark  one  night  into  the  Close  by  the  balmy  mild-ness  of 
the  weather.  His  mind  had  been  running  all  day  upon  the 
Tenor,  and,  noticing  as  he  passed  his  little  house  that  the  blind 
was  up,  and  the  sitting  room  window  wide  open,  showing  the 
lamplit  interior,  and  the  object  of  his  thoughts  pacing  restlessly 
to  and  fro,  he  determined  to  go  in  and  have  a  chat.  The  Tenor 
received  him  cordially,  but  his  manner  was  somewhat  absent, 
and  for  a  wonder  the  conversation  flagged. 

"Are  you  well  ?"  the  dean  asked  at  last.  "  You  look  some 
what  fatigued,  I  think,  and  pale." 

"Yes,  I  am  well,  thank  you,"  the  Tenor  answered,  brushing 
his  hand  back  over  his  forehead  and  hair,  a  gesture  which  was 
habitual.  "  But  I  fancy,"  he  added  smiling,  "  that  I  am  begin 
ning  to  be  a  little  " — he  did  not  know  what. 


37°  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  dean,  looking  at  him  with  the  grave,  critical 
air  of  an  anxious  physician,  and  ruminating  before  he  pro 
nounced  his  diagnosis.  "You  have  shown  most  extraordinary 
perseverance  in  the  course  of  life  you  marked  out  for  your 
self,"  he  finally  observed  ;  *  and  I  trust  your  resolution  is  well 
recompensed  by  having  obtained  for  you  that  peace  of  mind 
which  you  sought.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  be 
permitted  to  point  out  to  you.  I  do  not  venture  to  advise, 
because,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  always  a  difficult  matter  to 
decide  on  what  would  be  best  for  another  man's  welfare  •  and, 
in  the  second  " — the  dean  always  spoke  with  great  deliberation 
— "  a  man  who  has  proved  himself  so  capable  of  acting  with 
prudence  and  determination,  so  competent  to  judge,  and  so 
firm  in  carrying  out  his  convictions  as  you  have  been,  might 
well  consider  advice  from  anyone  presumptuous.  And,  there 
fore,  I  am  merely  going  to  observe  that,  lately,  it  has  seemed 
to  me  to  be  a  pity  that  your  life  should  continue  much  longer 
to  be  a  life  of  inaction.  I  hope,  and  indeed  I  think,  that  the 
years  you  have  spent  so  well  in  this  quiet  way  have  been  even 
more  beneficial  than  you  yourself  imagine  ;  that  they  have  not 
only  reconciled  you  to  life,  but  have  given  you  back  the  confi 
dence  and  energy  which  should  belong  to  your  character  and 
abilities,  and  the  ambition  to  succeed  in  the  world  which  should 
belong  to  your  age.  For  some  time  past  it  has  seemed  to  me 
that  you  are  more  restless  than  you  used  to  be  ;  and  I  have 
fancied,  indeed  I  may  say  I  have  hoped,  that  you  are  at  last 
beginning  to  long  for  change." 

The  Tenor  sat  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  while. 

"  No,"  he  began  at  last,  "  I  do  not  even  yet  long  for  change, 
as  you  would  understand  the  longing.  I  have  begun  to  feel  a 
want,  though  I  scarcely  know  of  what — of  companionship, 
perhaps,  of  some  new  interest ;  but  I  have  no  inclination  for 
any  change  that  would  take  me  away  from  here.  After  the 
storm  I  passed  through,  this  place  has  been  for  me  a  perfect 
haven  of  rest ;  and  now  that  my  peace  of  mind  has  returned  to 
me,  do  you  think  it  would  be  wise,  by  any  voluntary  act,  to 
alter  the  present  course  of  my  life,  seeing  that  it  is  so  well  with 
me  as  it  is  ?  When  a  man  is  content  it  does  not  seem  to  me 
that  any  change  can  be  for  the  better  ;  and,  trifles  apart,  I 
really  am  content." 

"  God  grant  it  may  last,"  the  dean  responded  earnestly. 
"  Only  I  would  warn  you  to  be  ready  for  change  in  case  it 
comes  to  you  in  spite  of  yourself.  I  would  warn  you  not  to 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  37 * 

feel  too  secure.  For  I  have  noticed  this,  that,  for  some  myste 
rious  reason  which  no  mortal  can  fathom,  it  appears  to  be  the 
will  of  Heaven  that  when  a  man  is  able  to  say  sincerely,  '  I  am 
happy ' ;  when  he  is  most  confident,  believing  his  happiness  to 
be  as  firmly  placed  as  earthly  happiness  can  be,  then  is  the 
time  for  him  to  be  most  watchful,  for  then  is  change  most 
likely  to  be  at  hand.  Indeed,  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  this 
feeling  of  security,  or  rather  of  content  with  things  as  they  are, 
is  in  itself  an  indication  of  coming  change." 

As  he  finished  speaking  the  cathedral  clock  above  them 
began  to  strike  the  hour.  Slowly  the  mellow  notes  followed 
each  other,  filling  the  night  with  sound,  and  dying  away  in  a 
long  reverberation  when  the  twelfth  had  struck.  Then  came 
silence,  then  the  chime,  voicelike,  clear,  and  resonant  : 

'P 


— , — ^    .  { j^— 

He,  watch-ing  o-ver       Is  -  ta  •  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 

After  which  all  was  so  still  that  the  Tenor,  looking  up  through 
the  open  window  at  the  moonlit  cathedral,  towering  above  him, 
gray,  shadowy,  and  mysterious,  felt  as  if  the  world  itself  had 
stopped,  and  all  the  life  in  it  had  been  resolved  into  a  moment 
of  intense  self-consciousness,  of  illimitable  passionate  yearning 
for  something  not  to  be  expressed. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday,  and  in  the  afternoon  the  Tenor 
had  to  sing. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THERE  is  human  nature,  both  literally  and  figuratively 
speaking,  in  Wagner's  method  of  setting  a  character  to  a 
tune  of  its  own  ;  for,  although  our  lives  can  hardly  be  said  to 
order  themselves  to  one  consistent  measure,  our  days  often  do. 
For  months  now,  "  When  the  orb  of  day  departs,"  Schubert's 
song,  had  accompanied  the  Tenor.  It  had  soothed  him,  it  had 
irritated  him  ;  it  had  expressed  passionate  longing,  it  had  been 
the  utterance  of  despairing  apathy  ;  it  had  marked  the  vainest 
regret,  and  it  had  suggested  hope  ;  it  had  wearied  him,  it  had 
comforted  him  ;  but  it  had  never  .left  him.  That  Saturday 
morning,  however,  when  he  awoke,  his  mind  was  set  to  another 


37*  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN? 

measure.  Schubert's  song  had  gone  as  it  had  come,  without 
conscious  effort  on  his  part  ;  but  it  had  left  a  substitute,  for 
the  Tenor,  as  he  lingered  over  his  morning's  work,  found  him 
self  continually  murmuring  whole  phrases  of  a  chant  which  he 
had  heard  once  upon  a  time  when  he  was  staying  in  an  old 
town  in  France.  It  was  the  Litany  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  sung 
at  Benediction  by  some  unseen  singer  with  a  wonderfully  sym 
pathetic  mezzo-soprano  voice.  The  Tenor  had  gone  again  and 
again  to  hear  her  in  this  chant,  the  music  of  which  suited  her 
as  well  as  it  did  the  theme.  The  words  of  adoration,  "  Sancta 
Maria,  Sancta  Dei  Genetrix,  Sancta  Virgo  virginum,"  were 
uttered  evenly  on  notes  that  admitted  of  the  tenderest  expres 
sion,  while  the  supplication,  the  "  Ora  pro  nobis,"  rose  to  the 
full  compass  of  the  singer's  voice,  and  was  delivered  in  tones 
of  passionate  entreaty.  At  the  end,  in  the  "Agnus  Dei,"  the 
music  changed,  dropping  into  the  minor  with  impressive  effect, 
the  effect  of  earnestness  wearied  by  effort  but  still  unshaken  ; 
and  it  was  this  final  appeal  in  all  its  pathetic  beauty  that  now 
recurred  to  the  Tenor.  He  had  not  thought  of  the  chant  for 
years,  nor  had  there  been  anything  apparently  to  recall  it 
now  ;  but  all  that  day  it  possessed  him,  and  at  intervals  he 
caught  himself  involuntarily  singing  it  aloud  : 

**  Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi,  parce  nobis  Domine, 
Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi,  exaudi  nos  Domine, 
Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi,  miserere  nobis." 

He  sang  it  while  he  was  dressing  ;  he  whistled  it  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  while  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  waiting 
for  his  breakfast  ;  and  at  breakfast,  with  the  newspaper  before 
him,  he  hummed  it  to  himself  steadily.  He  began  it  again  as 
he  crossed  the  road  to  enter  the  cathedral  for  the  early  morn 
ing  service  ;  he  continued  it  while  he  was  putting  on  his  sur 
plice  ;  he  marched  to  it  in  the  procession,  and  he  rapped  it 
out  on  his  music  book  when  he  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  choir. 
He  opened  the  book  to  study  his  solo  for  the  afternoon  service, 
but  before  he  was  halfway  through  his  mind  was  busily  rend 
ering,  not  the  music  before  him,  but 

'*  Angus  Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi,  parce  nobis  Domine." 

The  haunting  strain  had  become  an  intolerable  nuisance  by 
this  time,  and  he  made  a  vigorous  effort  to  get  rid  of  it  by 
giving  his  mind  to  what  was  going  on  around  him,  and  inter- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWIKS.  373 

esting  himself  in  the  people  as  they  entered  and  took  their 
places  in  stall  and  choir,  and  canon's  pew,  chancel  and  tran 
sept.  Being  Saturday,  there  was  a  good  attendance  even  at 
this  early  service.  Strangers  from  a  distance  came  in  to  see 
the  cathedral,  and  people  in  the  place  came  in  to  see  the 
strangers  ;  so  that  there  was  plenty  to  observe,  especially  for 
one  who  (unlike  the  Tenor)  was  a  little  behind  the  scenes  or 
had  peeped  beneath  the  surface  and  beheld  the  various  inci 
dents  of  the  life-dramas  which  were  constantly  being  enacted 
in  the  sacred  edifice  itself  from  service  to  service  in  the  midst 
and  with  the  help  of  psalms  and  hymns  and  spiritual  songs, 
prayers  and  sermons,  under  the  dean's  very  nose,  and  often  in 
the  presence  of  the  bishop.  The  world  at  worship  is  a  worldly 
sight,  and  there  was  a  certain  appropriateness  in  the  Tenor's 
miserere  ;  but  he  failed  to  apply  it  although  it  kept  him  com 
pany  to  the  end,  and  was  still  faithful  when  he  sallied  forth 
from  the  gloom  of  the  cathedral  and  went  on  his  way  with  the 
rest  in  the  sunshine  and  freshness  of  a  glad  new  day. 

As  the  time  for  the  afternoon  service  approached,  the  peo 
ple  began  again  to  flock  to  the  cathedral,  but  in  crowds  now, 
for  it  had  been  rumoured  that  the  Tenor  was  to  sing. 

The  choir,  from  their  lateral  position  on  either  side  of  the 
aisle,  were  able  to  look  up  and  down  the  church,  having  on  the 
one  hand  and  opposite  the  distinguished  visitors  who  were 
accommodated  with  seats  in  the  stalls,  the  canon's  and  dean's 
pews  ;  and  on  the  other  the  officiating  clergy  and  the  congre 
gation  generally.  It  was  an  advantageous  position  for  those 
who  came  to  observe,  but  the  Tenor  had  not  hitherto  been  one 
of  these.  The  music,  when  it  was  interesting,  absorbed  him  ; 
and  when  it  was  dull  the  monotony  soothed  him,  so  that  he 
noticed  nothing.  It  had  done  so  this  afternoon.  During  all 
the  first  part  of  the  service  he  neither  saw  nor  heard,  but  did 
his  work  mechanically  like  one  in  a  dream  ;  and  in  every  pause 
of  it  the  old  chant  recurred  to  him,  filling  his  heart  with  a 
separate  undercurrent  of  solemn  supplication,  now  in  French : 
"  Agneau  de  Dieu,  qui  effaccz  les  pe*ches  du  monde,  ayez 
pine*  de  nous,"  and  now  in  Latin  :  "  Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis 
peccata  mundi,  miserere  nobis." 

The  dean  preached  a  sermonette  on  Saturday  afternoon,  which 
he  took  the  precaution  to  deliver  before  the  anthem,  so  that 
the  people  might  still  have  something  to  look  forward  to  and 
keep  their  seats.  The  sermonette  over,  the  organ  played  the 
opening  bars  of  the  Tenor's  solo,  and  the  choir  stood  up. 


374  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

While  he  waited  for  the  note,  the  Tenor  absently  fixed  his  eyes 
on  a  lady  in  the  canon's  pew.  The  spell  of  the  old  chant  was 
still  upon  him,  and,  instead  of  preparing  his  mind  for  his  task, 
he  let  it  murmur  on  :  "  Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi, 
parce  nobis  Domine  " — while  a  rapt  silence  fell  upon  the  con 
gregation — not  a  ribbon  rustled  ;  the  expression  of  expecta 
tion  was  most  intense.  One  would  scarcely  have  expected 
the  Tenor  to  take  up  the  note  at  the  right  moment,  his  mind 
being  preoccupied  by  another  strain,  but  he  did.  The  lady  in 
the  canon's  pew  held  the  music  of  the  anthem  before  her,  and 
had  been  following  that ;  but  when  the  first  clear  notes  of  the 
Tenor's  voice  rang  through  the  building  she  looked  up  as  if  in 
surprise,  their  eyes  met,  and  with  a  shock  the  Tenor  awoke  from 
his  lethargy,  faltered  for  a  moment,  and  then  stopped.  The 
organ  played  on,  however,  and  he  quickly  recovered  ;  but  the 
pause  had  been  quite  perceptible  and  the  people  were  amazed. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  such  a  thing  had  happened  with  their 
Tenor,  which  made  it  a  matter  of  moment  ;  and  the  wonder  of 
it  grew,  parties  being  formed,  the  one  to  excuse  the  slip  and 
call  it  nothing,  the  other  to  blame  him  for  his  carelessness,  as 
people  who  never  disappoint  us  are  blamed,  with  bitterness,  if 
for  once  by  chance  they  err. 

That  night  the  Tenor's  restlessness  grew  to  a  head.  He  was 
engaged  upon  a  piece  of  work  he  wished  to  finish,  but  he 
could  not  settle  to  it ;  and  after  making  an  ineffectual  effort  to 
concentrate  his  attention  upon  it,  he  took  up  his  hat  and 
strolled  out. 

It  was  a  lovely  moonlight  night.  The  line  of  trees  in  the 
Close  were  in  flower,  and  their  sweetness  was  overpowering. 
He  did  not  stay  there,  however,  but  wandered  out  into  the 
city,  with  his  hat  pushed  back  from  his  forehead,  and  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  The  gas  was  not  lighted  in  the  streets  as  the 
moon  was  near  the  full  ;  and  beneath  her  rays,  all  common 
objects,  however  obtrusively  vulgar  by  daylight,  were  refined 
into  beauty  for  the  moment. 

"  Pater  de  coelis  Deus,  miserere  nobis  ; 
Fili  Redemptor  mundi  Deus,  miserere  nobis, 
Spiritus  sancte  Deus,  miserere  nobis  ; 
Sancte  Trinitas  unus  Deus,  miserere  nobis  " — 

the  Tenor  sang  softly  to  himself  as  he  slowly  pursued  his  way. 

He  had  some  sort  of  a  vague  idea  that  he  would  like  to  go 

and  look  at  .the  quaint  old  market-place  by  moonlight  ;  and 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  375 

when  he  reached  it,  he  stopped  at  the  corner,  interrupting  his 
song  to  gaze  in  artistic  appreciation  at  the  silent  scene  before 
him,  at  the  heavy  masses  of  shade  interspersed  with  intervals 
of  mellow  moonlight,  and  the  angles  of  roof  and  spire  and 
ornament  cut  clean  as  cameos  against  "  the  dark  and  radiant 
clarity  of  the  beautiful  night  sky." 

The  market-place  was  an  irregular  square,  picturesquely 
enclosed  by  tall  houses  of  different  heights  and  most  original 
construction,  among  them  the  east  end  of  a  church  and 
part  of  a  public  building  of  ancient  date  were  crowded  in  ; 
without  incongruous  effect,  however,  the  moonlight,  crisp,  cool, 
and  clear,  having  melted  hue  and  form  of  all  alike  into  one 
harmonious  whole,  to  the  charm  of  which  even  the  covered 
stalls,  used  in  the  day's  dealings  and  now  packed  in  the  middle 
of  the  square,  and  the  deserted  footways  added  something. 

A  tall,  slender  lad  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  was  standing  on 
the  edge  of  the  pathway,  just  in  front  of  the  Tenor.  He  was 
the  only  other  person  about,  and  on  that  account  the  Tenor 
had  looked  at  him  a  second  time.  As  he  did  so,  a  young 
woman  came  suddenly  round  the  corner,  and  accosted  the  boy. 

"Qu'il  est  beau  !"  she  exclaimed,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  smiling  up  into  his  face  admiringly. 

The  Boy  stepped  back  to  avoid  her,  with  an  unmistakable 
gesture  of  disgust,  and  in  doing  so,  he  accidentally  stumbled 
up  against  the  Tenor. 

He  turned  round,  and  apologised  confusedly. 

The  Tenor  raised  his  hat,  and  answered  courteously.  They 
were  standing  together  side  by  side  now,  and  remained  so  for 
some  seconds,  silently  surveying  the  scene ;  and  then  the 
Tenor  all  unconsciously  began  again  to  sing  : 

"  Sancta  Maria,"  he  entreated,  "  Sancta  Dei  Genetrix,  Sancta 
Virgo  virginum,  ora  pro  nobis." 

The  girl  had  been  wandering  off  again,  but  at  the  first  note 
of  the  supplication  she  stopped.  A  chord  of  memory  stirred. 
She  knew  the  words,  she  knew  the  tune.  She  had  sung  them 
both  herself  often  and  often  at  home  in  France.  She  was  a 
Child  of  Mary  then — and  now  ?  ^ru5HK«Ve  • 

As  the  Tenor  finished  the  last  note  of  the  phrase  and  paused, 
she  clasped  her  hands  convulsively,  and  gasped  :  "O  mon 
Dieu  !  mon  Dieu  !  ayez  pitie  de  moi  !  " 

Her  half-inarticulate  cry  did  not  reach  the  Tenor  and  the 
Boy,  neither  had  they  observed  her  distress,  for  just  at  that 
moment  the  city  clock  struck  one,  ancl  both  had  raised  their 


376  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

heads  involuntarilyvin  expectation  of  the  chime.  And  pres 
ently  out  upon  the  night  it  rolled,  a  great  wave  of  sound,  swell 
ing  and  spreading,  muffled  by  distance  somewhat,  but  still  dis 
tinctly  sweet  and  insistent : 


& 


Ee,  watch-ing  o- ver       Is  •  ra  •  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    slaepe. 

"  Do  you  believe  it  ?  "  said  the  Boy,  glancing  toward  the  girl, 
and  repeating  the  gesture  of  disgust  with  which  he  had  shrunk 
from  her  when  she  accosted  him. 

The  Tenor  lifted  his  hat,  and  brushed  his  hand  back  over 
bis  hair.  "  Do  I.  believe  it  in  spite  of  that  ?  you  would  say," 
he  answered,  considering  the  girl  with  quiet  eyes.  "  Yes,  I 
believe  it,"  he  declared,  "  in  spite  of  that,  which  has  puzzled 
older  heads  than  yours." 

With  which  he  turned  to  retrace  his  steps,  taking  up  the 
Litany  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  once  more  as  he  went,  the  suppli 
cation  :  "Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi,  miserere  nobis," 
being  audible  long  after  he  was  out  of  sight. 

The  Boy  remained  as  he  had  left  him  for  some  time,  appar 
ently  lost  in  thought  ;  and  the  girl  still  stood  a  little  way  off  in 
a  dejected  attitude,  her  hands  clasped  before  her,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground.  She  looked  ill  and  spiritless.  The  Boy,  glanc 
ing  at  her  carelessly,  wondered  at  the  intent  expression  of  her 
face  ;  he  did  not  perceive  that  she  was  praying,  but  she  was. 

The  midnight  stillness  deepened  about  those  two  ;  there  was 
not  another  living  creature  to  be  seen.  The  irregular  old 
buildings  on  every  side  looked  ruinous  in  the  shadowy  moon 
light,  and  the  whole  market-place  presented  to  the  Boy  a 
picture  of  desolation  which  chilled  him.  He  was  about  to 
turn  away  with  a  last  cursory  glance  at  the  other  solitary  figure, 
when  something  suddenly  occurred  which  arrested  his  attention. 
It  seemed  .to  startle  him  too,  for  he  sprang  back,  with  prompt 
agility,  into  a  dark  doorway  behind  him,  from  whence  he 
watched  what  followed  with  the  keenest  interest,  being  careful, 
however,  to  conceal  himself  the  while.  He  had  not  felt  any 
movement  of  pity  or  kindly  compassion  for  the  girl  ;  perfect 
indifference  had  succeeded  the  first  sensation  of  repugnance  ; 
he  would  have  left  her  there  to  any  fate  that  might  await  her, 
and  would  have  expected  all  right-minded  people  to  do  the 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  377 

same.  It  was  therefore  with  unmitigated  astonishment  that  he 
beheld  the  scene  which  was  now  being  enacted  before  him. 
They  were  no  longer  alone.  A  tall  and  graceful  lady  of  most 
dignified  bearing,  with  a  countenance  of  peculiar  serenity  and 
sweetness,  had  approached  from  the  opposite  direction,  and 
was  standing  beside  the  girl,  speaking  to  her  evidently,  but  the 
Boy  was  too  far  off  to  hear  what  was  said.  He  could  see,  how 
ever,  that  the  girl's  whole  attitude  had  changed.  She  was  no 
longer  dejected,  but  eager  :  and  she  gazed  in  the  lady's  face 
as  she  listened  to  her  words  with  an  expression  of  admiration 
and  wonder,  one  had  almost  said  of  adoration,  upon  her  own, 
as  though  it  were  a  heavenly  visitant  who  had  hailed  her. 
The  lady,  as  she  spoke,  pointed  to  a  street  opposite,  and  the 
girl  cast  a  quick  glance  in  that  direction  ;  she  seemed  to  be 
measuring  a  distance  she  was  impatient  to  traverse,  and  moved 
a  step  forward  at  the  same  time,  uttering  some  short  sentence 
with  rapid  gesticulation.  The  pantomime  was  perfectly  intel 
ligible  to  the  Boy,  who  understood  that  she  was  feverishly 
anxious  to  carry  out  some  intention  on  the  instant.  The  lady 
seemed  to  hesitate,  then,  laying  her  beautiful  white  ungloved 
hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder,  and  looking  into  her  face,  she 
spoke  again  earnestly.  The  girl  answered  with  passionate  pro 
testations,  and  then  the  lady  smiled,  satisfied  apparently,  and 
led  the  way  in  the  direction  to  which  she  had  pointed,  the  girl 
following  in  haste.  Her  hat  had  fallen  back,  her  hair  was 
loosened,  her  countenance  beamed  with  enthusiasm,  as  the  Boy 
observed.  He  was  stealing  softly  after  them,  skipping  from 
shadow  to  shadow,  in  great  enjoyment  of  the  whole  adventure. 

The  lady  took  the  girl  to  a  long  low  rambling  house  beside 
a  church,  at  the  door  of  which  she  knocked.  It  was  opened 
immediately  by  a  singularly  venerable  looking  old  man,  evid 
ently  a  priest,  with  a  fine  though  rugged  face,  instinct  with 
zeal  and  benevolence.  He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  was 
just  coming  out ;  but  when  he  saw  who  had  knocked,  he 
stopped  short,  and  bowed  deferentially.  The  girl  sank  down 
upon  the  doorstep  as  if  exhausted. 

"I  have  brought  Marie  Cruchot  home,  father," the  lady  said. 

"  Ah,  my  daughter,  is  that  you  ?  We  have  been  expecting 
you  for  many  days,"  the  old  man  exclaimed  in  French,  taking 
the  girl's  hand  and  raising  her  gently  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have 
prayed  for  you  day  and  night  without  ceasing,  and  only  just 
now,  as  I  passed  the  convent,  I  went  to  ask  the  night  portress 
for  tidings  of  our  wandering  sheep,  and  specially  mentioned 


378  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINt> 

you.  But  enter.  The  good  sisters  are  waiting  for  you,  and 
will  welcome  you  with  joy." 

One  of  two  sisters  of  charity,  who  were  standing  behind  the 
priest,  now  came  forward  and  kissed  the  girl.  The  old  man 
raised  his  hat,  and,  looking  up  into  the  clear  depths  of  the 
quiet  sky,  murmured  a  blessing,  and  went  his  way.  And  then 
the  door  was  closed. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  Boy,  who  was  lurking  up  an  entry  oppo 
site.  "  So  that  is  what  they  do  at  night,  is  it  ?  and  that  is  the 
young  person  who  sold  her  sister  Louise  to  Mosley  Menteith. 
Now  I  am  beginning  to  know  the  world ;  and  what  an  extraor 
dinary  old  world  it  is,  to  be  sure  !  One  half  seems  to  be  always 
kept  busy  mending  the  mischief  the  other  half  has  made." 

He  peeped  cautiously  out  of  the  entry,  looking  for  the  lady, 
but  she  had  disappeared,  and  night  and  silence  reigned 
supreme. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ALL  that  the  Tenor  had  witnessed  of  the  scene  in  the 
market-place  made  little  or  no  impression  on  him,  and  he 
would  probably  never  have  thought  of  it  again  had  he  not 
encountered  the  Boy  a  few  nights  later,  standing,  idly  observant 
as  before,  at  the  same  time  and  almost  in  the  same  place. 

The  Tenor's  first  impulse  was  to  pass  on  without  speaking, 
but  the  Boy  looked  at  him,  and  there  was  something  in  the 
look,  half  shy,  half  appealing,  which  caused  him  to  stop,  and 
having  stopped,  he  was  obliged  to  speak. 

To  his  first  commonplace  remark  the  Boy  answered  ner 
vously,  and  with  quick  glances  instantly  averted,  as  if  he  were 
afraid  to  meet  the  Tenor's  eyes.  The  latter  continued  to  talk, 
however,  and  after  a  little  the  Boy's  timidity  wore  off,  and  his 
manner  became  assured. 

"  This  is  a  curious  old  place,  is  it  not  ?  "  he  remarked  ;  "  and 
curiously  named  if  you  consider  how  very  little  quest  there  is 
for  morning  here,  for  the  new  day  which  would  bring  the  light 
of  truth  after  the  darkness  of  error.'* 

"  It  never  struck  me  that  the  name  could  have  any  allegorical 
significance,"  the  Tenor  answered  prosaically.  "I  believe  it 
used  to  be  Morn  and  Quest.  It  stands  at  the  junction  of  the 
two  rivers,  you  know,  or  rather  just  below  it.  They  run  their 
united  race  from  hence  to  the  sea." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  379 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Boy,  "  But  it  really  is  a  romantic  old 
place,  especially  by  moonlight ;  and  it  teems  with  historical 
associations,  as  the  guidebook  has  it,  with  its  cathedral, 
cloisters,  castle,  and  close — the  closest  in  England,  they  say. 
Don't  you  feel  remote  from  the  world  when  you  get  in  there, 
and  the  four  old  gates  are  shut  upon  you  ?  The  water-gate  is 
the  most  interesting  to  me." 

"  Two  of  the  others  are  architecturally  beautiful  where  they 
haven't  been  spoilt  by  restoration,"  the  Tenor  rejoined. 

"Ah!  "the  Boy  ejaculated,  and  then  continued  boyishly: 
"  You're  not  a  native  evidently,  or  you  wouldn't  speak  so 
moderately.  The  inhabitants  boast  themselves  black  in  the 
face  about  everything  in  the  city.  They  made  me  believe  that 
the  whole  earth  began  here  originally,  and  that  it  was  also  the 
point  of  departure  for  the  sea.  It  did  wash  their  walls  on  the 
southern  side  once  upon  a  time  ;  but  the  sinfulness  of  the 
people  compelled  it  to  retire  ages  ago,  and  it  has  since  enjoyed 
a  purer  moral  atmosphere  twenty  miles  away." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Tenor.  "  I  did  not  know  that  the  sea 
was  so  fastidious  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is,  naturally,"  the  Boy  declared  ;  "  but  it  cannot 
choose  its  position  for  itself  always  any  more  than  we  can. 
But  people  are  more  entertaining  than  places,"  he  pursued  ; 
"don't  you  think  so?  Now  these  people,  how  Godfearing  and 
orthodox  they  are,  and  how  admirably  they  make  religion  part 
of  their  daily  life  in  the  matter  of  stretching  a  point  and  using 
the  right  of  Christian  charity  to  be  lenient  when  a  too  rigorous 
adhesion  to  principle  would  injure  their  interest.  Their 
chief  confectioner  retired  from  business  the  other  day,  but  they 
would  not  give  their  custom  to  his  successor  at  first  because  of 
his  religious  opinions.  They  forsook  him  for  his  atheism,  in 
fact ;  but  in  a  very  short  time  they  returned  to  him  for  his  ice 
creams,  which  are  excellent.  If  you  ever  feel  any  doubt  about 
life  being  worth  living,  go  and  get  one.  It  will  reassure  you." 

They  had  been  strolling  on  as  they  talked,  and  now  the 
Tenor  turned  to  look  at  his  companion,  being  about  to  answer 
him,  when  something  in  the  Boy's  face  struck  him  as  familiar, 
and  he  paused,  knitting  his  brows  in  a  perplexed  effort  to 
think  what  it  was.  Measured  beside  himself  the  Boy  was 
rather  taller  than  he  looked,  but  very  slender,  and  his  hands 
and  feet  were  too  small.  He  had  dark  eyebrows,  peculiarly 
light  luxuriant  hair,  and,  as  a  natural  accompaniment,  a  skin 
of  extreme  fairness  and  delicacy.  In  fact,  he  was  too  fair  for 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

his  age,  it  made  him  look  effeminate  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for 
the  dark  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  his  colouring -would  have  been 
insipid.  As  it  was,  however,  there  was  no  lack  of  character  in 
his  face  ;  and  you  would  have  called  him  *'  a  pretty  boy  " 
while  thinking  it  high  time  he  had  grown  out  of  his  prettiness. 
This  was  the  Tenor's  reflection,  but  his  too  earnest  gaze 
apparently  disconcerted  the  Boy,  who  returned  it  with  one 
quick  anxious  glance,  then  seemed  to  take  fright,  and  finally 
bolted,  leaving  the  Tenor  alone  in  the  road.  **  That  young 
rascal  is  out  without  leave,  and  is  afraid  of  being  recognized," 
he  concluded. 

It  was  some  weeks  before  they  met  again,  and  during  the 
interval  the  Tenor  often  thought  of  the  Boy  with  curiosity  and 
interest.  There  was  something  unusual  in  his  manner  and 
appearance  which  would  have  attracted  attention  even  if  hir, 
conversation  had  not  been  significant,  and  that  it  was  sig 
nificant  the  Tenor  discovered  by  the  continual  recurrence  to 
his  mind  of  some  one  or  other  of  the  Boy's  observations.  He 
had  not  tried  to  find  out  who  the  Boy  was,  interest  not  having 
stirred  his  characteristic  apathy  in  such  matters  to  that  extent, 
but  he  looked  for  him  continually  both  by  day  and  night,  his 
thoughts  being  pretty  equally  divided  between  him  and  the 
lady  whose  brilliant  glance  had  had  such  a  magical  effect  upon 
him  the  first  time  he  encountered  it.  She  came  to  the  cathe 
dral  regularly  now,  and  always  sat  in  the  canon's  pew  ;  and 
always  when  he  sang  she  looked  at  him,  and  he  knew  that  the 
look  was  an  expression  of  appreciation  and  thanks.  He  knew, 
too,  that  the  day  she  did  not  come  would  be  a  blank  day  for  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

rPHE  moon  had  grown  old,  but  the  nights  were  still  scented 
1  by  the  lime-trees  when  the  Tenor  met  the  Boy  again.  He 
had  begun  to  believe  that  the  Boy  did  not  live  in  Morningquest  ; 
and,  as  often  happens,  he  was  thinking  of  him  less  than  usual 
on  this  particular  occasion,  and  hence  he  came  upon  him 
unawares. 

The  Boy  was  lolling  against  the  iron  railings  that  enclosed 
the  grassy  space  round  which  the  old  lime-trees  grew,  in  the 
middle  of  one  arm  of  the  Close.  It  was  a  bright,  clear  night, 
but  chilly,  and  he  was  wrapped  up  in  a  greatcoat  which  lent  a 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  38* 

little  substance  to  his  slender  figure.  The  Tenor  would  have 
passed  him  without  recognizing  him,  but  for  his  sandy  hair, 
which  shone  out  palely  against  the  bark  of  one  of  the  trees. 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you,"  the  Boy  said.  "  Why  are  you  so 
late  to-night?" 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  later  than  usual  to-night  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Because,  generally,  you  come  out  about  ten  o'clock,  and  it 
is  nearly  twelve  now." 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  know  I  generally  come  out  about 
ten  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  the  Boy  answered  coolly,  "  I  watched  you.  I  have 
been  studying  your  habits  in  order  to  find  out  what  manner  of 
man  you  are  ;  and  I  think  you'll  do,"  he  added  patronizingly, 
with  a  wise  shake  of  the  head.  "  I  guess  you  were  looking  for 
me  too,  weren't  you?" 

The  Tenor  smiled  again,  and,  lifting  his  hat,  brushed  his 
hand  back  over  his  hair.  "What  makes  you  think  so?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing,"  the  Boy  replied, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  People  who  meet  me  once  try,  as 
a  rule,  to  cultivate  my  acquaintance,"  with  which  he  raised 
himself  from  his  lolling  posture,  and  added  :  "  I'll  walk  up  and 
down  with  you,  if  you  like,  but  you  must  give  me  your  arm. 
I  require  support." 

"  Why  ?  are  you  tired  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  to-day  ?  " 
the  Tenor  asked  as  he  acquiesced,  smiling  in  his  grave  way,  for 
the  Boy  pleased  him. 

"  Oh,  well  " — considering — "  I  got  up  this  morning." 

"  That  was  a  serious  business  !  " 

"  It  was  " — with  emphasis — "  for  I  had  to  settle  a  serious 
question  before  I  arose.  I  had  to  make  up  my  mind  about 
free  will  and  predestination.  If  I  could  believe  in  predestin 
ation  I  thought  I  might  have  breakfast  in  bed  without  self- 
reproach  ;  but  if  it  were  a  matter  of  free  will,  I  felt  I  should 
be  obliged  to  get  up." 

"  And  how  did  you  settle  it?  "  The  tenor  asked. 

'*  I  didn't  settle  it,"  the  Boy  replied,  "  for  just  as  I  was  com 
ing  to  a  conclusion  the  breakfast  bell  rang,  and  the  force  of 
habit  compelled  me  to  jump  out  of  bed  in  a  hurry.  I  don't 
call  that  free  will  !  And  I  think,  on  the  whole,  predestination 
had  the  best  of  it,  perhaps,  for  my  breakfast  was  sent  up  to  me 
after  all,  without  any  action  on  my  part,  and  I  partook  of  it 


3  8*  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

in  the  silence  and  solitude  of  my  own  chamber,  with  an  easy 
conscience,  and  the  luxuries  of  an  open  window  and  a  book. 
I  suppose  you  can  do  that  every  day  if  you  like  ?  You  have 
no  one  to  interfere  with  you." 

"  I  have  no  one  to  interfere  with  me,"  the  Tenor  repeated, 
thoughtfully.  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  me  if  I 
had." 

"By  better  you  mean  happier,"  the  Boy  responded,  clasping 
both  hands  round  the  Tenor's  arm. 

The  latter  looked  down  at  him,  wondering  a  little,  but  not 
displeased. 

They  were  walking  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses  just  then, 
and  could  not  see  each  other's  faces,  but  the  Tenor's  heart 
warmed  more  and  more  to  this  curious  Boy,  and  he  pressed 
the  hand  that  rested  on  his  arm  a  little  closer.  It  was  a  long 
time  since  the  grave,  large-hearted,  earnest  man  had  known 
anyone  so  young  and  spontaneous,  or  felt  a  touch  of  human 
sympathy,  and  in  both  he  found  refreshment — a  something 
of  that  something  which  he  knew  he  needed  but  could  not 
name. 

They  took  a  turn  up  and  down  in  silence,  and  then  the  Boy 
began  again,  boyishly  :  "  I  say,  do  you  suffer  from  nerves  ? 
You  made  rather  a  bungle  of  it  the  other  day,  didn't  you  ?" 

"  You  mean  when  I  broke  down  in  that  anthem  ?  Were  you 
there  ?  Where  did  you  sit  ?" 

"  With  the  distinguished  strangers,  of  course." 

"  I  did  not  see  you." 

"  Did  you  look  behind  you  ?  " 

"  No.     Bat  are  you  a  stranger  here  ?" 

"  Well,  not  exactly,"  said  the  Boy,  with  a  great  affectation  of 
candour. 

They  had  passed  out  into  the  open  now,  and  the  Tenor  could 
see  the  Boy's  face.  He  had  glanced  at  him  as  we  do  at  the 
person  we  speak  to,  but  something  he  saw  arrested  his  glance, 
and  caused  him  to  look  again  keenly  and  closely — the  some 
thing  that  had  perplexed  him  before. 

The  Boy  returned  his  gaze  smiling  and  unabashed.  "  She 
put  you  out,  didn't  she  ?"  he  asked  with  a  grin.  "  Verily,  she 
hath  eyes — at  least,  I've  been  told  so ;  but  I  am  no  judge  of 
such  things  myself." 

The  puzzled  look  passed  from  the  Tenor's  face.  "  I  know 
what  it  is,"  he  said.  "  You  are  exactly  like  her." 

The  Boy  laughed.     "  I  meant  to  keep  it  a  secret.     I  was 


\ 

THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  3 

going  to  make  a  mystery  of  myself,"  he  said  ;  "but  faculties 
like  yours  are  not  to  be  baffled,  and  since  you  have  observed 
so  much,  I  might  as  well  confess  that  there  are  two  of  us, 
twins.  They  call  us  the  Heavenly  Twins." 

"  What,  signs  of  the  Zodiac  ? "  said  the  Tenor. 

"  No,  signs  of  the  times,"  said  the  Boy. 

There  was  a  little  pause  and  then  the  Tenor  observed  :  "  I 
should  hardly  have  thought  you  were  twins,  except  for  the  like 
ness.  Your  sister  looks  older  than  you  do." 

"  Well,  you  see,  she's  so  much  more  depraved,"  said  the 
Boy.  "  And  her  lovely  name  is  Angelica — excuse  me.  I  must 
laugh."  He  slipped  his  hand  from  the  Tenor's  arm,  leant  his 
back  against  a  railing,  and  exploded.  "Excuse  me,"  he  re 
peated,  when  he  could  contain  himself.  "  I  have  suffered  from 
this  affliction  all  my  life.  I  can't  help  laughing." 

"  So  it  seems,"  said  the  Tenor,  "  May  I  ask  what  provoked 
this  last  attack  of  your  malady  ?  " 

Before  he  could  answer,  they  were  accosted  by  a  respectable 
looking  man,  a  small  farmer  from  a  distance  probably,  who  was 
making  the  most  of  a  rare  opportunity  by  trying  to  see  as 
much  as  he  could  of  the  cathedral  in  the  dark. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said — the  Boy  was  all  gravity 
in  a  moment — "but  could  you  tell  me  what  flying  buttresses 
are." 

"  A  sign  of  rain,"  said  the  Boy,  whereupon  the  Tenor  seized 
him  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  shook  him  incontinently.  For 
a  moment  after  he  was  released,  the  Boy  seemed  to  be  overcome 
by  astonishment  ;  but  this  was  rapidly  succeeded  by  an  attack 
of  the  malady  he  had  declared  to  be  congenital,  apparently 
brought  on  by  the  shock  of  the  chastisement,  and  the  Tenor, 
who  had  walked  on  a  little  way  with  the  countryman  answer 
ing  his  questions,  left  him  laughing  all  over.  He  waited,  lean 
ing  against  the  railing,  until  the  Tenor  returned. 

"You  little  wretch "  the  latter  began. 

"  That's  right,  don't  make  a  stranger  of  me,"  the  Boy  inter 
rupted.  "  Treat  me  like  a  younger  brother.  You  make  me 
feel  that  I  have  succeeded  in  establishing  confidential  relations 
between  us,  which  is  what  I  wa'nt." 

The  Tenor  was  about  to  reply,  but  his  voice  was  drowned  by 
a  sudden  clangour  of  the  bells  above  them.  The  "clock  struck, 
the  chime  rang,  and  while  they  waited  listening,  the  Tenor 
raised  his  hat.  They  were  standing  at  the  corner  of  the 
cloisters,  looking  up  to  the  clock  tower  and  its  tapering  spire, 


384  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

which  surmounted  the  Norman  fa£ade  and  entrance  to  the  south 
transept. 

"  I  must  go,"  the  Boy  said,  when  he  could  hear  himself 
speak. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in — to  my  house — I  am  afraid  I  am 
very  wanting  in  hospitality,"  the  Tenor  exclaimed.  "  I  should 
have  asked  you  before.  I  live  close  by.  I  should  be  so 
glad— 

"  Not  to-night/'  the  Boy  interrupted  hastily  ;  "another  time. 
Good-bye  I  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  next  the  Tenor  saw  Angelica  after  he  had  learnt 
that  she  was  the  Boy's  sister,  he  felt  that  a  new  interest 
had  been  added  to  her  attractions. 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  the  cathedral,  as  usual, 
and  she  came  in  late.  But  almost  as  soon  as  she  had  taken 
her  seat  she  looked  at  the  Tenor  with  an  earnest,  anxious 
glance  that  reminded  him  of  her  brother,  and  her  colour 
deepened.  The  Boy  had  told  her  then,  the  Tenor  thought, 
and  he  was  glad  she  knew  that  they  had  met  ;  it  was  a  bond 
of  union  which  seemed  to  bring  her  nearer. 

He  noticed  now  how  like  in  feature  the  brother  and  sister 
were.  The  girl  looked  taller  as  well  as  older,  and  was  alto 
gether  on  a  larger  scale,  her  figure  being  amply  developed  for 
her  age,  while  the  Boy's  was  fragile  to  a  fault ;  her  hair  was 
dark  too,  while  his  was  light ;  but  with  these  slight  differences 
there  was  likeness  enough  to  show  that  they  were  twins. 
They  both  had  the  same  shaped  eyes,  the  same  straight,  well- 
defined,  dark  eyebrows  and  long  lashes,  the  same  features,  the 
same  clear  skin  and  even  teeth  ;  but  the  expression  was  differ 
ent.  There  was  never  any  devilment  in  the  girl's  face  ;  it  was 
always  pale  and  tranquil,  almost  to  sadness,  as  the  Tenor  saw 
it,  standing  out  in  fair  relief  against  the  dark  oak  carving  of 
the  stalls.  Her  movements  were  all  made,  too,  with  a  certain 
quiet  dignity  that  seemed  habitual.  In  the  Boy,  on  the  con 
trary,  there  was  no  trace  of  that  graceful  attribute.  He  threw 
himself  about,  lolled,  lollopped,  and  gesticulated,  with  as  much 
delight  in  the  free  play  of  his  muscles  as  if  he  were  only  let  out 
to  exergise  them  occasionally  ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  must 
always  be  at  daggers  drawn  with  dignity.  But  such  a  slender 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  3^5 

intellectual  creature  could  not  without  absurdity  acquire  the 
ponderous  movements  and  weight  of  manner  of  smaller  wits 
and  duller  brains.  In  the  girl,  quiescence  was  the  natural  out 
come  of  womanly  reserve  ;  in  the  Boy,  it  would  have  been 
mere  affectation.  His  lightness  and  brightness  were  his  great 
charm  at  present,  a  charm,  however,  which  was  much  enhanced 
by  moments  of  thoughtfulness,  which  gave  glimpses  of  another 
nature  beneath,  with  more  substantial  qualities.  The  Tenor 
had  soon  perceived  that  he  was  not  all  mischief,  romp,  and 
boyishness  ;  all  that  was  on  the  surface  ;  but  beneath  there 
was  a  strong  will  at  work  with  some  purpose,  or  the  Tenor  was 
much  mistaken  ;  and  there  was  daring,  and  there  was  original 
ity.  This  was  the  Tenor's  first  impression,  and  further  acquaint 
ance  only  confirmed  it. 

Having  formed  his  opinion  of  the  Boy's  abilities,  the  Tenor 
began  to  make  plans  for  his  future,  and  the  selflessness  of  the 
man's  nature  showed  itself  in  nothing  more  clearly,  perhaps, 
than  in  the  consideration  he  gave  to  the  lad's  career.  His 
own  had  not  cost  him  so  much  as  a  thought  for  years  ;  but  now 
he  roused  himself  and  became  ambitious  all  at  once  for  the 
Boy  !  He  believed  that  there  was  the  making  of  a  distinguished 
man  in  him,  and  he  allowed  the  hope  of  being  able  to  influence 
him  in  some  worthy  direction  to  become  as  much  a  part  of  his 
daily  life  as  another  hope  had  become — a  hope  which  was 
strongly  felt  but  not  yet  acknowledged,  except  in  so  far  as  it 
took  the  form  of  a  desire  to  see  her,  and  made  known  its 
presence  with  force  in  the  pang  of  disappointment  which  he 
suffered  if  by  chance  she  failed  to  come  as  usual  to  the  service 
on  Saturday  afternoon.  He  saw  in  the  girl  an  ideal,  and  had 
found  soul  enough  in  the  laughter-loving  Boy  to  make  him  eager 
to  befriend  him. 

And  thus  into  the  Tenor's  life  two  new  interests  had  found 
their  way,  and  something  which  had  hitherto  been  wanting  to 
make  the  music  of  it  perfect  was  heard  at  last  in  his  wonderful 
voice  when  he  sang. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ABOUT  this  time  the  weather  changed  ;  the  nights  were  wet 
for  a  week,  and  when  it  cleared  up  the  Tenor  had  begun  to 
do  some  work  for  the  dean  which  kept  him  at  home  in  the 
evenings,  so  that  he  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing  the  Boy,  who 


*B6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

only  seemed  to  come  abroad  at  night,  for  some  little  time. 
He  saw  his  sister,  however,  in  the  cathedral  regularly  once  a 
week,  and  always  she  gave  him  a  friendly  glance,  by  which 
his  days  were  rounded  as  by  a  blessing,  and  he  felt  content. 
His  being  so  was  entirely  characteristic.  Another  man  in  his 
place  would  have  lost  the  charm  of  the  present  in  anxiety  to 
reach  some'  future  which  should  be  even  more  complete.  But 
the  Tenor  took  no  thought  for  the  morrow  ;  each  day  as  it  came 
was  a  joy  to  him,  and  his  hopes,  if  he  had  any,  were  a  part  of 
his  peace. 

The  work  he  was  doing  for  the  dean  was  interesting.  He 
was  making  drawings  to  illustrate  a  history  of  Anglo-Norman 
times  which  the  dean  was  writing.  He  drew  well  and  with 
great  facility ;  but  these  drawings,  many  of  which  were 
architectural,  required  special  care  and  accuracy,  with  the 
closest  attention  to  detail,  which  made  the  work  fatiguing, 
particularly  as  he  had  to  do  it  at  night,  his  only  leisure  time 
just  then  ;  and  more  than  once  he  had  tired  himself  out,  and 
been  obliged  to  put  it  away  and  rest.  On  one  of  these  occa 
sions,  instead  of  going  to  bed,  he  stretched  himself  in  an  easy- 
chair  beside  the  open  French  window  which  looked  out  upon 
the  cathedra),  and  prepared  to  indulge  in  the  quiet  luxury  of 
a  pipe  while  he  rested  his  weary  eyes.  The  great  cathedral 
towered  above  him,  and  from  where  he  sat  the  Tenor  caught  a 
beautiful  glimpse  of  it  angle  wise,  of  the  south  transept  and 
tower  and  spire ;  the  rich  perpendicular  windows  of  the 
clerestory,  the  bold  span  of  the  flying  buttresses  rising  out  of 
the  plain  but  solid  Norman  base,  every  detail  of  which  he  knew 
and  appreciated. 

It  was  a  fair,  still,  starry  night  without,  and  the  light  air 
that  blew  in  upon  him  was  sweet  and  refreshing.  His  mind 
wandered  from  subject  to  subject — a  sleepy  sign — as  he 
smoked,  and  presently  he  put  down  his  pipe  and  closed  his 
eyes.  He  thought  then  that  he  had  fallen  asleep  and  was 
dreaming,  and  in  his  dream  he  fancied  he  heard  himself  sing. 
"  This  is  a  queer  dream,"  he  was  conscious  of  saying.  "That 
is  my  voice  exactly.  I  have  often  wondered  how  it  sounded 
to  other  people,  and  now  I  am  listening  to  it  myself,  which  is 
strange."  But  the  strangest  part  of  it  was  that  the  words  to 
which  the  music  shaped  itself  in  his  mind  were  not  the  word? 
of  any  song  he  knew,  but  that  expression  of  human  nature 
which  contains  in  itself  some  of  the  grandest  harmony  in  the 
language  : 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  387 

"  These  our  actors, 

As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air  : 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself  ; 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve  ; 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  wreck  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 

The  last  words  repeated  themselves  over  and  over  again, 
on  different  notes  and  in  another  key  each  time,  and  with 
such  powerful  emphasis  that  at  last  it  aroused  the  Tenor, 
upon  whose  sleepy  brain  the  fact  that  it  was  not  a  voice  but  a 
violin  to  which  he  had  been  listening,  dawned  gradually,  while 
his  trained  ear  further  recognized  the  tone  of  a  rare  instru 
ment,  and  the  touch  of  a  master  hand.  He  got  up  and  went 
to  the  window.  "  Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  is  it  you  ?  "  and  there 
was  a  world  of  pleasure  in  the  exclamation.  "Come  in." 

The  Boy,  who  was  standing  in  the  road,  opened  the  little 
garden  gate,  and  entered.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  relented,"  he 
said  ;  "  for  I  meant  to  play  until  I  had  softened  your  heart, 
and  had  persuaded  you  to  take  me  in  ;  and  the  hope  deferred 
was  making  me  sick." 

"  I  was  asleep,"  the  Tenor  answered.  "  Why  didn't  you 
come  in  ?  You  must  have  known  you  would  be  welcome. 
Here  is  an  easy-chair.  Sit  down.  And,  tell  me,  why  do  we 
only  meet  at  night?  What  do  you  do  with  yourself  all  day?  " 

"I  am  not4  a  daylight  beauty,"  the  Boy  declared.  "I  look 
best  at  night." 

"  But  seriously  ?  "  the  Tenor  persisted. 

"  Oh,  my  tutor,  you  know — Sandhurst — exams — and  that 
kind  of  thing." 

"  You  are  going  into  the  army  then  ?" 

But  the  Boy,  smiling,  put  the  question  by.  The  easy,  pleas 
ure-loving,  sensuous  side  of  his  nature  was  evidently  upper 
most,  and  when  that  was  the  case  it  was  so  natural  for  him  to 
shirk  a  disagreeable  subject,  that  the  Tenor  had  not  the  heart 
to  pursue  it  further. 

"  Won't  you  take  your  hat  off?"  he  said  presently. 

The  Boy  put  up  both  hands  to  it.  "  My  head's  a  queer 
shape,"  he  said,  tapping  it.  "  You  won't  want  to  examine  it 
phrenologically,  will  you  ?" 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  No,"  the  Tenor  answered,  smiling.     "  Not  if  you  object." 

"  I  do  object.     I  don't  like  to  be  touched." 

The  Tenor,  still  smiling,  watched  him  as  he  carefully  removed 
his  hat.  His  head  was  rather  a  peculiar  shape.  It  was  too 
broad  at  the  back,  and  too  large  altogether  for  his  slight  frame, 
though  probably  the  thickness  of  his  fluffy  light  hair,  which 
stood  up  all  over  it,  innocent  of  parting  as  the  Tenor's  own, 
added  considerably  to  this  last  defect.  There  was  nothing  so 
very  extraordinary  about  it,  however,  and  the  Tenor  did  not 
see  why  he  should  be  sensitive  on  the  subject,  and  rather  sus 
pected  that  the  boy  was  gravely  poking  fun  at  him  ;  but  as  he 
could  not  be  sure  of  this,  and  would  not  have  hurt  his  feelings 
for  the  world,  he  forebore  to  make  any  remark. 

The  Boy  glanced  round  the  room.  "  What  a  wealthy  luxuri 
ous  fellow  you  are,"  he  observed. 

"  These  appearances  of  wealth,  as  you  call  it,  are  delusive," 
the  Tenor  answered.  "  I  just  happened  to  have  money  enough 
to  furnish  my  house  when  I  came  here  ;  but  I  am  a  very  poor 
man  now.  I  have  little  or  nothing,  in  fact,  but  my  salary  for 
singing  in  the  choir." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Boy.  "  And  you  might  be  so  rich  with  your 
voice." 

The  Tenor  brushed  his  hand  back  over  his  hair. 

"Are  you  lazy  ?  "  the  Boy  demanded. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  smiling  again.  The  Boy  kept  him  smil 
ing  perpetually. 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?     Why  don't  you  work  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  do  work,"  the  Tenor  answered  him. 

"  I  mean,  why  don't  you  make  money?  " 

"  Oh — because  I  have  no  one  to  make  it  for."  ' 

"  If  you  had  " — and  the  Boy  leant  forward  eagerly — "  would 
you  ?  Would  you  work  for  a  lady  who  loved  you  if  she  gave 
herself  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  work  for  my  wife,"  said  the  Tenor. 

"  Are  you  engaged  ?  "  the  Boy  asked.  There  seemed  no  limit 
to  his  capacity  for  asking. 

The  Tenor  shook  his  head,  and  shook  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe  at  the  same  time. 

"  Are  you  in  love  ?  "  the  Boy  persisted. 

The  Tenor  made  no  reply  to  this  impertinence,  but  a  glow 
spread  over  his  face,  forehead  and  chin  and  throat. 

The  Boy,  whom  nothing  escaped,  leant  back  satisfied.  "  I 
know  what  it  is,"  he  said.  "  She's  married,  and  you  don't  like 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  389 

to  ask  her  to  run  away  with  you.  I  expect  she  would,  you 
know,  if  you  did." 

The  Tenor  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed. 

His  mirth  seemed  to  jar  on  the  Boy,  who  got  up  and  began 
to  pace  about  the  room,  frowning  and  dissatisfied. 

"  You  look  pale,"  the  Tenor  said.  "  Have  you  been  ill  since 
I  saw  you  ?  " 

'*  No — yes,"  the  Boy  answered.  "  I  had  a  bad  cold.  I  was 
very  sorry  for  myself." 

The  Tenor  took  up  his  violin,  and  examined  it.  "  Where 
did  you  study?"  he  asked. 

"  Everywhere,"  was  the  ungraciously  vague  reply. 

"  I  wish  you  would  play  again,"  the  Tenor  said,  taking  no 
notice  of  his  ill-humour.  "  It  would  be  a  rare  treat  for  a  her 
mit  like  me." 

"  No,"  was  the  blunt  rejoinder.  "  I  don't  want  to  make 
music.  I  want  to  explore." 

"  Well,  make  yourself  at  home,"  the  Tenor  said,  humouring 
him  good-naturedly. 

"  Make  me  at  home,"  the  Boy  replied.  "  Confidential  rela 
tions,  you  know.  You  may  smoke  if  you  like." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  the  Tenor  answered  politely,  sitting  down 
in  his  easy-chair,  from  which  he  had  risen  to  look  at  the  violin, 
and  taking  up  his  pipe  again. 

The  Boy  was  rummaging  about  now,  and,  finding  much  to  in 
terest  him,  he  presently  recovered  his  temper,  and  began  to 
banter  his  host.  But  even  this  outlet  was  scarcely  sufficient 
for  his  superfluous  life  and  energy,  so  he  emphasized  his  remarks 
by  throwing  a  stray  cushion  or  two  at  the  Tenor  ;  he  jumped 
over  the  chairs  instead  of  walking  round  them,  and  performed 
an  occasional  pas  seul,  or  pirouette,  in  various  parts  of  the  room. 
When  these  innocent  amusements  palled  upon  him,  he  took  up 
his  violin  and  played  a  plaintive  air,  to  which  he  chanted  : 

"  There  was  a  merry  dromedary 
Waltzing  on  the  plain  ; 
Dromedary  waltzing,  dromedary  prancingf. 
And  all  the  people  said,  it  is  a  sign  of  ram, 
When  they  saw  the  good  beast  dancing  , " 

executing  grotesque  steps  himself  at  the  same  time  in  illustra 
tion. 

"  Oh,  Boy,  forbear  \  "  the  Tenor  exclaimed  at  last,  "  or  you 
will  be  the  death  of  me." 


39°  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  That's  it,"  the  Boy  responded  cheerfully.  "  I  mean  to  be 
life  or  death  to  you." 

After  this  he  sat  down  on  a  high-backed  chair,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  his  legs  stretched  out  before  him,  and  his  chin 
on  his  chest,  looking  up  from  under  his  eyebrows  at  the  Tenor 
thoughtfully.  It  was  an  interval  of  great  gravity,  and  when  he 
spoke  again  the  Tenor  looked  for  something  serious. 

"  I  say,"  he  began  at  last. 

The  Tenor  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  waited,  inter 
rogatively. 

"  I  say,  I'm  hungry." 

The  Tenor  looked  his  dismay. 

"  Boys  always  are,  you  know,"  the  youth  added,  encourag 
ingly. 

"  And  if  there  should  be  nothing  in  the  house  !  "  the  poor 
Tenor  ejaculated.  "  I'll  go  and  see." 

He  returned  quite  crestfallen.  "  There  is  nothing,"  he  said  ; 
**  at  least  nothing  but  bread — no  butter  even." 

"  I  don't  believe  you,"  said  the  Boy,  rousing  himself  from  his 
indolent  attitude. 

*'  Boy,  you  mustn't  say  you  don't  believe  me." 

"  But  I  don't,"  said  the  Boy.  "  I  don't  believe  you  know 
where  to  look.  Are  the  servants  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  solitary  attendant  doesn't  sleep  here." 

"  Then  I'll  go  and  look  myself." 

"  Oh,  do,  if  you  like,"  said  the  Tenor,  much  amused.  And 
thinking  the  Boy  would  enjoy  himself  best  if  he  were  left  to 
rummage  at  his  own  sweet  will,  he  took  up  a  book,  brushed  his 
hand  back  over  his  shining  hair,  and  was  soon  absorbed.  But 
presently  he  was  startled  by  a  wild  cry  of  distress  frtfm  the 
kitchen,  and,  jumping  up  hastily,  he  went  to  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

He  found  the  Boy  standing  at  one  end  of  the  kitchen,  clutch 
ing  a  vegetable  dish,  and  gazing  with  a  set  expression  of  abso 
lute  horror  at  some  object  quite  at  the  other  end.  The  Tenor 
strained  his  own  eyes  in  the  same  direction,  but  could  not  at 
first  make  anything  out.  At  last,  however,  he  distinguished  a 
shining  black  thing  moving,  which  proved  to  be  a  small  cock 
roach. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  baby  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I'm  not,"  the  Boy  snapped.  "It's  an  idiosyncrasy.  I  can't 
bear  creepy  crawly  things.  They  give  me  fits." 

"  I  begin  to  perceive,  Boy,  that  you  have  a  reason  for  every- 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  39 * 

thing,"  the  Tenor  observed,  as  he  disposed  of  the  innocent 
object  of  the  Boy's  abhorrence. 

"Put  it  out  of  sight,"  the  latter  entreated,  looking  nauseated. 

But  as  soon  as  the  Tenor  had  accomplished  his  mandate, 
his  good  humour  returned,  and  he  began  to  beam  again. 
"  What  a  duffer  you  are  !  "  he  said,  taking  the  lid  off  the  dish 
he  held  in  his  hand.  "You  have  no  imagination.  You  never 
lifted  a  dish  cover.  Why,  I've  found  a  dozen  eggs — fresh,  for 
I  broke  one  into  a  cup  to  see ;  and  here  are  a  whole  lot  of 
cold  potatoes." 

"  It  doesn't  sound  appetizing  ;  cold  potatoes  and  raw  eggs  !  " 

"  Sound  !  It  isn't  sound  you  judge  by  in  matters  of  this 
kind.  Just  you  wait,  and  you  shall  see,  smell,  and  taste." 

"  Well,  if  it  please  you,"  the  Tenor  answered  lazily.  "  I  see 
something  already.  You  have  lighted  a  fire." 

"  Yes,  and  I've  used  all  the  dry  sticks,"  said  the  Boy,  with 
great  glee.  "  Won't  the  old  woman  swear  when  she  comes  in 
the  morning  !  " 

The  Tenor  returned  to  his  book,  reflecting,  as  he  prepared 
to  resume  it,  on  the  wonderful  provision  of  nature  which  en 
dows  the  growing  animal  not  only  with  such  strong  instincts  of 
self-preservation,  but  with  the  power  to  gratify  them,  and  to 
take  itself  off  at  the  same  time  and  be  happy  in  so  doing,  thus 
saving  those  who  have  outgrown  these  natural  proclivities  from 
some  of  their  less  agreeable  consequences. 

Presently  a  hot  red  face  appeared  at  the  door.  "  Did  you 
say  you  liked  your  eggs  turned  ?"  the  Boy  wanted  to  know. 

"  I  didn't  say  ;  but  I  do,  if  you're  frying  them." 

"And  hard  or  soft?" 

"Oh,  soft." 

"  How  many  can  you  eat  ?  " 

"  Half-a-dozen  at  least,"  the  Tenor  returned  at  random. 

"  And  I  can  eat  three" — with  great  gravity — "  that  will  make 
nine,  and  leave  three  for  your  breakfast  in  the  morning.  I 
daresay  you  won't  want  more  after  such  a  late  supper.  I  don't 
think  I  should  myself." 

"  But  do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  the  voracity  of  the 
growing  animal  will  be  satisfied  with  less  than  I  can  eat  ?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  the  Boy  explained  apologetically,  "the  heat 
of  the  fire  has  taken  a  lot  out  of  me." 

"  But  the  waste  must  be  repaired." 

'  Yes,  but  the  expenditure  has  been  -followed  by  a  certain 
amount  of  exhaustion,  and  the  power  to  repair  the  waste  has 


39 2  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

yet  to  be  generated  ;  it  will  come  as  a  sort  of  reaction  of  the 
organs  which  can  only  set  in  after  a  proper  period  of  repose — 
a  sort  of  interregnum  of  their  energies,  you  know." 

The  Tenor  threw  back  his  golden  head.  "  Oh,  Boy  !  "  he 
expostulated,  "  don't  make  me  laugh  again  to-night,  don't, 
please  ! " 

The  Boy  was  very  busy  for  the  next  ten  minutes,  arranging 
the  table,  and  quite  in  his  element ;  cooing  as  he  proceeded, 
and  giving  little  muttered  reasons  to  himself,  in  his  soft  con 
tralto  voice,  for  everything  he  did.  That  voice  of  his  was 
wonderfully  flexible  ;  he  could  make  it  harsh,  grating,  gruffly 
mannish,  and  caressing  as  a  woman's,  at  will,  but  the  tone  that 
seemed  natural  to  it  was  the  deep,  mellow  contralto  into  which 
he  always  relapsed  when  not  thinking  of  himself.  The  Tenor 
thought  it  hardly  rough  enough  for  a  boy  of  his  age,  but  it  was 
in  harmony  with  his  fragile  form?  and  delicate,  effeminate 
features. 

"Whom  the  gods  love  die  young,"  flashed  through  his  mind 
as  he  watched  him  now,  coming  and  going ;  and  he  sighed,  it 
seemed  so  likely  ;  and  felt  already  that  he  should  miss  the 
Boy  ;  and  wondered,  with  retrospective  self-pity,  how  he  had 
managed  to  live  at  all  with  no  such  interest. 

"A  golden-headed,  gray-eyed,  white-toothed,  fine-skinned 
son  of  the  morning  must  be  a  sybarite,"  the  Boy  observed, 
entering  the  room  at  that  moment ;  "  so  I  bring  flowers,  and 
also  salad,  just  cut  and  crisp." 

"  May  I  ask  how  you  knew  there  was  salad  in  my  garden  ?" 

"  Well,  you  may  ask"  the  Boy  responded  cheerfully  ;  "  but — 
let  me  see,  though — perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you.  I  found 
that  out  the  last  time  I  was  here.  Perhaps  you  don't  know 
that  I  came  ?  I  wanted  to  discover  the  resources  of  the  place, 
so  I  took  advantage  of  your  temporary  absence  on  business 
one  day,  and  inspected  it." 

"  Where  was  I  ?  "  the  Tenor  asked. 

"You  were  busy  at  the  fire  insurance  office  opposite." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  cathedral  ?  Boy,  I  will  not  let  you 
mock." 

The  Boy  grinned.  "It  was  the  only  time  I  could  be  at  all 
sure  of  you,"  he  pursued.  "You  were  going  to  sing  a  solo.  I 
saw  it  advertised  in  the  paper,  and  laid  my  plans  accordingly. 
But  I  was  in  a  fright !  I  thought  you  might  just  happen  to 
feel  bad  and  be  obliged  to  come  out,  and  catch  me.  I  felt  that 
strongly  when  I  was  picking  your  flowers  in  the  greenhouse." 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  393 

He  left  the  room  before  the  Tenor  recovered,  and  returned 
with  a  tray  on  which  was  the  result  of  his  enterprise. 

"  If  you  don't  like  eggs  and  potatoes  fried  as  I  fry  them, 
you'll  never  like  anything  again  in  this  world,"  he  asserted 
confidently,  helping  the  Tenor  as  he  spoke.  "  The  thing  is  to 
have  the  dripping  boiling  to  begin  with,  you  know,"  he 
continued — ("I'll  only  give  you  two  eggs  at  a  time) — then 
plunge  them  in,  and  as  they  brown  take  them  off  one  by  one 
and  put  them  on  a  hot  dish — I'm  speaking  of  the  potatoes  now  ; 
but  don't  cover  them  up,  it  makes  them  flabby,  and  the  great 
thing  is  to  keep  them  crisp." 

"  They  really  are  good,"  said  the  Tenor.  But  he  had  over 
estimated  his  capacity,  and  could  only  dispose  of  three  of  the 
eggs. 

The  Boy  was  disgusted.  However,  he  said  it  did  not  matter, 
since  he  was  there  to  sacrifice  himself  in  the  interests  of  science, 
and  preserve  the  balance  of  nature  by  eating  the  rest  himself, 
a  feaj  he  accomplished  easily. 

"  Now  this  is  what  I  call  good  entertainment  for  man  and 
beast,"  he  observed. 

"  May  I  ask  which  is  the  beast  ?  "  the  Tenor  ventured. 

"Why,  I  am,  of  course,"  said  the  Boy.  "  Did  you  ever  know 
a  boy  who  wasn't  half  a  beast  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  early  association  and  surround 
ings." 

"Well,  if  you  knew  the  kind  of  moral  atmosphere  I  have  to 
breathe  at  home,  you  would  know  also  how  little  you  ought  to 
expect  of  me.  But  what  shall  we  drink  ?  " 

"There  is  some  beer,  I  believe,"  the  Tenor  said  dubiously0 

"  Burgundy  is  more  in  my  line." 

"  Burgundy  !  A  boy  like  you  shouldn't  know  the  differ 
ence." 

"  A  boy  like  me  wouldn't,  probably." 

The  Tenor  smiled.  "  And  what  do  you  call  yourself,  pray  ? 
A  man  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  a  bright  particular  spirit." 

It  was  not  inappropriate,  the  Tenor  thought,  and  he  got  up. 
"  It  does  not  often  happen  so,"  he  said  ;  "  but  now  I  think  of 
it  I  believe  I  have  some  Burgundy  in  the  house.  The  dean 
sent  me  a  dozen  the  last  time  I  was  out  of  sorts,  and  there  is 
some  left." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Boy.  "  It  is  in  the  cupboard  under  the 
stairs  on  the  left  hand  side." 


394  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

When  the  Tenor  came  back  with  the  Burgundy  the  Boy 
settled  himself  in  an  easy-chair  with  a  glass  on  the  table  beside 
him,  and  it  was  evident  that  his  mood  had  changed.  He  was 
thoughtful  for  a  little,  sitting  with  solemn  eyes,  looking  out  at 
the  cathedral  opposite. 

There  was  only  one  rose-shaded  lamp  left  alight  in  the  long 
low  room,  and  the  dimness  within  made  it  possible  to  see  out 
into  the  clear  night  and  distinguish  objects  easily. 

"  When  I  look  out  at  that  great  pile  and  realize  its  antiquity, 
I  suffer,"  the  Boy  said  at  last.  "  Do  you  know  what  it  is,  the 
awful  oppression  of  the  ages  ?  " 

The  Tenor  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  then  he  said  : 

**  I  never  see  you  at  church. 

"  I  should  think  not,"  the  Boy  replied,  still  speaking  seri 
ously.  "You  never  see  anyone  but  Angelica." 

The  Tenor  flushed. 

"  Why  do  you  never  speak  to  that  sweet  young  lady  ? "  the 
Boy  asked  tentatively,  after  a  little  pause. 

"  I !     How  could  I  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  you  ought  to,"  the  Boy  went  on,  endeavouring  to 
'*  draw  "  the  Tenor.  "  You  can't  expect  her.  to  make  up  to 
you,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Boy  !  how  can  you  be  so  young  !  "  the  Tenor  ex 
claimed,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  but  still  amused. 

The  Boy  sipped  his  wine,  and  gazed  into  the  glass,  delight 
ing  in  the  rich  deep  colour.  "  I  should  think  she  would 
be  delighted  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  so  great  an  artist," 
he  said. 

The  Tenor  bowed  ironically.  *'  May  I  ask  if  you  are  pur 
suing  your  investigations  as  to  what  manner  of  man  I  am  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Well,  yes,"  was  the  candid  rejoinder;  "  I  was.  I  suppose 
you  think  that  you  ought  not  to  speak  without  an  introduction. 
Well,  say  I  gave  you  one." 

The  Tenor  laughed.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  let  the 
subject  drop,  and  at  the  same  time  yielded  to  tempta 
tion. 

"  What  would  your  introduction  be  worth  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Everything,"  the  Boy  rejoined.  "  I  am  on  excellent  terms 
with  Angelica.  We  have  always  been  inseparable,  and  I 
get  on  with  her  capitally;  and  she's  not  so  easy  to  get  on 
with,  I  can  tell  you,"  he  added,  as  if  taking  credit  to  him 
self. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  395 

*'  When  she  is  good  she  is  very  good  indeed, 
But  when  she  is  naughty  she  is  horrid. 

And  just  now  she's  mostly  naughty.     She  isn't  very  happy.'* 

The  interest  expressed  in  the  Tenor's  attitude  was  intensi 
fied,  and  inquiry  came  into  his  eyes. 

"She  is  not  very  happy,"  the  Boy  pursued  with  extreme 
deliberation,  "  because  you  come  no  nearer." 

"  Boy,  you  are  romancing,"  the  Tenor  said,  with  a  shade  of 
weariness  in  his  voice. 

"  I  am  not,"  the  Boy  replied.  "  I  know  all  that  Angelica 
thinks,  and  it  is  of  you " 

"  Hush  !  "  the  Tenor  exclaimed.     "  You  must  not  tell  me." 

"  But  she " 

"  I  will  not  allow  it." 

"Well,  there  then,  don't  bite,"  said  the  Boy;  "and  I  won't 
tell  you  against  your  will  that  she  thinks  a  great  deal  about 
you  " — this  presto,  in  order  to  get  it  out  before  the  Tenor 
could  stop  him.  "  But  I  will  tell  you  on  my  own  account  that 
I  don't  know  the  woman  who  wouldn't." 

A  vivid  flush  suffused  the  Tenor's  face,  and  he  turned  away. 

"  I  hope  you  never  say  things  like  that  to  your  sister,"  he 
objected,  after  a  time. 

The  Boy  grinned.  "  Sometimes  I  do,"  he  said,  "  only  they're 
generally  more  so.'* 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  this,  during  which  the  Tenor 
changed  his  attitude  repeatedly.  He  was  much  disturbed,  and 
he  showed  it.  The  Boy  made  a  great  pretence  of  sipping  his 
wine,  but  he  had  not  in  reality  taken  much  of  it.  He 
was  watching  the  Tenor,  and  it  was  curious  how  much 
older  he  looked  while  so  engaged.  The  Tenor  must  have 
noticed  the  change  in  him,  which  was  quite  remarkable,  giving 
him  an  entirely  different  character,  but  for  his  own  preoccupa 
tion.  As  it  was,  however,  he  noticed  nothing. 

"  Boy,"  he  began  at  last,  in  a  low  voice  and  hesitating,  "  I 
want  you  to  promise  me  something."  The  Boy  leant  forward 
all  attention.  "  I  want  you  to  promise  that  you  will  not  say 
anything  like  that — anything  at  all  about  me  to " 

"To  Angelica?"  'The  Boy  seemed  to  think.  "I  will 
promise,"  he  slowly  decided,  "if  you  will  promise  me  one  thing 
in  return." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Will  you  promise  to  tell  me  everything  you  think  about 
her." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

The  Tenor  laughed. 

"  You  might  as  well,"  the  Boy  expostulated.  "  I've  got  to 
look  after  you  both  and  see  that  you  don't  make  fools  of  your 
selves.  The  youngness  of  people  in  love  is  a  caution  !  And 
I  should  like  to  see  Angelica  safely  settled  with  you.  A  man 
with  a  voice  like  yours  is  a  match  for  anyone.  There  are 
obstacles,  of  course;  but  they  can  be  got  over — if  you  will 
trust  me." 

"  Oh,  you  impossible  child !  "  the  Tenor  exclaimed. 

<l  It  is  you  who  are  impossible,"  the  Boy  said,  in  dudgeon. 
"  You  are  too  ideal,  too  content  to  worship  from  afar  off  as 
Dante  worshipped  Beatrice.  I  believe  that  was  what  killed 
her.  If  Dante  had  come  to  the  scratch,  as  he  should  have 
done,  she  would  have  been  all  right." 

"  Beatrice  was  a  married  woman,"  the  Tenor  observed. 

The  Boy  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  just  then  the  cathedral 
clock  struck  three,  and  he  hastily  finished  his  wine. 

"  I'll  disperse,"  he  said,  when  the  chime  was  over.  "  Take 
care  of  my  fiddle.  You'll  find  the  case  under  the  sofa.  I  left 
it  the  last  time  I  was  here.  By-the-bye,  you  should  make  the 
old  woman  stay  at  home  to  look  after  the  place  when  you're 
out.  Unscrupulous  people  might  walk  in  uninvited,  you  know. 
Ta,  ta,"  and  the  Tenor  found  himself  alone. 

It  was  no  use  to  go  to  bed,  he  could  not  rest.  His  heart 
burned  within  him.  It  was  no  use  to  tell  himself  that  the  Boy 
was  only  a  boy.  He  knew  what  he  was  saying,  and  he  spoke 
confidently.  He  was  one  of  those  who  are  wiser  in  their 
generation  than  the  children  of  light.  And  he  had  said — what 
was  it  he  had  said  ?  Not  much  in  words,  perhaps,  but  he  had 
conveyed  an  impression.  He  had  made  the  Tenor  believe  that 
she  thought  of  him.  He  believed  it,  and  he  disbelieved  it.  If 
she  thought  of  him — he  threw  himself  down  on  the  sofa,  and 
buried  his  face  in  the  cushions.  The  bare  supposition  made 
every  little  nerve  in  his  body  tingle  with  joy.  He  ought  not 
to  indulge  in  hope,  perhaps;  but,  as  the  Boy  himself  might 
have  observed,  you  can't  expect  much  sense  from  a  man  in  that 
state  of  mind. 

A  few  days  later  the  Tenor  saw  his  lady  again  in  the 
canon's  pew,  and  he  was  sure,  quite  sure,  she  tried  to  suppress 
a  smile. 

"That  little  wretch  has  told  her,  and  she  is  laughing  at  my 
presumption,"  was  his  distressed  conclusion.  "  I'll  wring  his 
neck  for  him  when  he  comes  again." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  397 

But  when  the  service  was  over,  and  he  had  taken  his  sur 
plice  off,  she  passed  him  in  the  nave,  so  close  that  he  might 
have  touched  her,  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  just  like  the 
Boy  when  he  was  shy;  gave  him  a  quick  half-frightened  look, 
and  blushed  vividly;  gave  him  time  to  speak,  too,  had  he 
chosen.  But  the  Tenor  was  not  the  man  to  take  advantage  of 
a  girlish  indiscretion. 

When  he  went  home,  however,  he  was  glad.  And  he  opened 
his  piano  and  sang  like  one  inspired.  "  I  am  gaining  more 
power  in  everything,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  could  make  a 
position  for  her  yet." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  FEW  nights  later  the  Tenor  went  out  for  a  stroll,  leaving 
the  windows  of  his  sitting  room  closed  but  not  fastened, 
and  the  lamp  turned  down.  On  his  return  he  was  surprised  to 
find  the  window  wide  open  and  the  room  lit  up.  The  little 
garden  gate  was  shut  and  bolted.  He  could  easily  have  reached 
over  and  opened  it  from  the  outside,  but  knowing  that  it  creaked, 
and  not  wanting  to  disturb  his  nocturnal  visitor  until  he  had 
ascertained  his  occupation,  he  jumped  over  it  lightly,  walked 
across  the  grass  plot  to  the  window,  and  looked  in. 

It  was  the  Boy,  of  course.  The  Tenor  recognized  him  at 
once,  although  all  he  could  see  of  him  at  first  were  his  legs  as 
he  knelt  on  the  floor  with  his  back  to  him  and  his  head  and 
shoulders  under  a  sofa.  "  What,  in  the  name  of  fortune,  is  he 
up  to  now  ?  "  the  Tenor  wondered. 

Just  then  the  boy  got  up,  frowning,  and  flushed  with  stoop 
ing.  He  stamped  his  foot  impatiently,  and  looked  all  round 
the  room  in  search  of  something.  Suddenly  his  face  cleared. 
He  had  discovered  his  violin  on  the  top  of  a  bookshelf  above 
him,  and  that  was  apparently  what  he  wanted,  for  he  made  a 
dash  at  it,  and  took  it  down,  and  hugged  it  affectionately. 

The  Tenor  smiled,  and  stepped  down  into  the  room.  He 
did  not  wish  to  take  his  visitor  unawares,  but  the  carpet  was 
soft  and  thick,  and  his  quick  step  as  he  crossed  to  where  the 
boy  was  standing  with  his  back  to  him,  absorbed  in  the  con 
templation  of  his  beloved  instrument,  made  no  noise,  so  that 
when  the  Tenor  laid  his  hand  on  the  Boy's  shoulder  he  did 
startle  him  considerably.  The  Boy  did  not  drop  his  instru 
ment,  but  he  uttered  an  almost  womanish  shriek,  and  faced 


398  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

round  with  such  a  scared  white  look  that  the  Tenor  thought  he 
was  going  to  faint.  He  recovered  immediately,  however,  and 
then  exclaimed  angrily  :  "  How  dare  you  startle  me  so  ? 
Everybody  knows  I  can't  bear  to  be  startled.  If  you  are  noth 
ing  but  a  blunderer  you  will  spoil  everything.  And  I  bolted 
the  gate  too.  It  would  have  made  a  noise  if  you  had  opened 
it  as  you  ought  to  have  done,  and  then  I  should  have  known. 
I've  a  good  mind  to  go  away  now,  and  never  come  back 
again." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  Tenor.  "But  how  was  I  to 
know  it  was  you  ?  It  might  have  been  a  thief." 

"  Thieves  don't  come  to  steal  grand  pianos  and  armchairs 
in  lighted  chambers  with  the  windows  open  and  the  blinds  up," 
the  Boy  retorted.  "  Don't  you  feel  mean,  spying  around  like 
that?" 

"  Are  you  an  American  ?  "  the  Tenor  interrupted  blandly. 

"  Yes,  I  am  " — with  asperity — "  and  you  must  have  known 
quite  well  it  was  me.  Who  else  could  get  into  the  Close  after 
the  gates  were  shut  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  the  Tenor.  "And  how  do 
you  get  in,  pray  ?  By  the  postern  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  come  by  the  water-gate  ;  "  and 
his  face  cleared  as  he  saw  the  Tenor's  puzzled  glance  at  his 
garments. 

"I'm  not  wet,"  he  said.     "I  don't  swim." 

"  But  the  ferry  does  not  cross  after  six." 

"  No,  but  I  do,  you  see.  And  now  let  us  make  music,"  he 
added,  his  good  humour  restored  by  the  Tenor's  mystification. 
"  If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  accompany  me  with  your  piano, 
I  will  give  you  a  treat.  I  brought  my  music  the  last  time  I 
was  here  ; "  and  there  it  was,  piled  up,  on  a  chair  beside  the 
instrument. 

The  Tenor  could  have  sworn  that  neither  chair  nor  music 
was  there  when  he  went  out  that  evening,  but  what  was  the  use 
of  swearing  ?  He  felt  sure  that  the  Boy  in  his  present  mood 
would  have  outsworn  him  without  scruple  had  it  pleased  him 
to  maintain  his  assertion,  so  he  opened  his  piano  in  silence, 
and  the  music  began.  And  it  was  a  rare  treat  indeed  which 
the  Tenor  enjoyed  that  night.  The  Boy  played  with  great 
technical  mastery  of  the  instrument,  but  even  that  was  not  so 
remarkable  as  the  originality  of  his  interpretations.  He  pos 
sessed  that  sympathetic  comprehension  of  the  masters'  ideas 
which  is  the  first  virtue  of  a  musician  ;  but  even  when  he  was 


TUP:  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  399 

most  true  to  it,  he  managed  to  throw  some  of  his  strong  indi 
viduality  into  the  rendering,  and  hence  the  originality  which 
was  the  special  charm  of  his  playing.  As  an  artist,  he  certainly 
satisfied  ;  even  the  sensitive  soul  of  the  Tenor  was  refreshed 
when  he  played  ;  but  in  other  respects  he  was  obviously  defi 
cient.  So  long  as  things  were  pleasant  it  was  a  question 
whether  he  would  ever  stop  to  ask  himself  if  they  were  right. 
Acts  which  lead  to  no  bodily  evil,  such  as  sickness  or  that  low 
ering  of  the  system  which  lessens  the  power  of  enjoyment,  he 
was  not  likely  in  his  present  phase  to  see  much  objection  to  ; 
and  for  the  truth,  for  verbal  accuracy  in  his  assertions  that  is, 
he  had  no  particular  respect.  All  this,  however,  the  Tenor  was 
more  reluctant  to  acknowledge,  perhaps,  than  slow  to  perceive. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  expect  a  great  soul  to  accompany 
great  gifts,  and  what  he  did  know  of  the  Boy's  shortcomings  he 
condoned.  He  believed  the  young  tone-poet's  power  was  in 
itself  an  indication  of  high  aspirations,  and  those  he  thought 
were  only  temporarily  suppressed  by  a  boyish  affectation  of 
cynicism. 

But  the  Boy  did  not  give  the  Tenor  much  time  to  think. 
His  mind  was  quick-glancing,  like  his  eyes  when  he  was  ani 
mated,  and  he  carried  the  Tenor  along  with  him  from  one 
occupation  to  another  with  distracting  glee.  When  he  was 
tired  of  making  music,  as  he  called  it,  he  demanded  food,  and, 
so  long  as  he  could  cook  it  and  serve  it  himself,  he  delighted 
in  bacon  and  eggs,  as  much  as  he  did  in  Bach  and  Beethoven. 

The  Tenor  tried  to  wean  him  of  his  nocturnal  habits,  but  to 
this  the  Boy  would  not  listen.  He  said  he  liked  to  sit  up  all 
night,  and  when  he  said  he  liked  a  thing,  he  seemed  to  think 
he  had  adduced  an  unanswerable  argument  in  its  favour.  The 
Tenor  complained  of  fatigue.  The  long  nights  affected  his 
voice,  he  said,  and  made  him  unfit  for  work  ;  but  the  Boy  only 
grinned  at  this,  and  told  him  he'd  get  used  to  it.  Then  he 
threatened  to  shut  up  the  house  and  go  to  bed  if  the  Boy  did 
not  come  in  proper  time,  and  on  one  occasion  he  carried  out 
his  threat  ;  but  when  the  Boy  arrived  he  made  night  hideous 
with  horrid  howls  until  the  Tenor  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  was  obliged  to  get  up,  and  let  him  in,  to  preserve  the  peace 
of  the  neighbourhood.  After  which  the  Tenor  ceased  to  re 
monstrate,  and  it  became  one  of  the  pleasures  of  his  life  to 
prepare  for  this  terrible  hungry  Boy.  He  worked  in  his  gar 
den  early  and  late,  cultivating  the  succulent  roots  which  the 
latter  loved,  the  fruits  and  the  vegetables,  and,  last,  but  not 


400  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS, 

least,  the  flowers,  for  he  never  could  feed  without  flowers,  he 
said,  and  the  Tenor  ministered  to  this  exaction  with  the  nest. 
"  He  is  dainty  because  he  is  delicate,"  the  Tenor  thought, 
always  excusing  him.  "  When  he  is  older  and  stronger  he  will 
grow  out  of  all  these  epicurean  niceties  of  taste.  I  must  make 
him  dig,  too.  and  fence,  and  row.  He'll  soon  develop  more 
manliness." 

That  he  was  spoiling  the  Boy  in  the  meantime  never 
occurred  to  him,  not  even  when  he  noticed  that  the  latter 
took  all  these  kindnesses  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  only 
grumbled  when  some  accustomed  attention  was  omitted. 

The  Tenor  was  vexed  sometimes,  and  obliged  to  find  fault, 
but  the  Boy  could  always  soothe  him.  "  I  am  sure  you  love 
me,"  he  would  say.  "  Your  life  was  not  worth  living  until  I 
came,  and  you  could  not  live  without  me  now.  I  am  a  horrid 
little  brute  I  know,  but  I  have  my  finer  feelings  too,  my  capa 
city  for  loving,  and  that  raises  me. 

"  All  love  is  sweet 
Given  or  returned.** 

When  the  Boy  quoted  or  recited  anything  he  really  felt,  he 
had  a  way  of  lingering  over  the  words  as  if  each  syllable  were 
a  pleasure  to  him.  The  deep  contralto  of  his  voice  was  at  its 
sweetest  then,  and  he  seldom  failed  to  make  his  own  mood  felt 
as  he  intended. 

The  Tenor,  justly  incensed  by  some  wicked  piece  of  mis 
chief,  was  often  obliged  to  turn  away  that  he  might  maintain 
his  authority  and  not  be  seen  to  soften.  But  he  never  deceived 
the  Boy,  who  could  gauge  the  effect  of  his  persuasion  to  a 
nicety,  and  would  grin  like  a  fiend  behind  the  Tenor's  back  at 
the  success  of  his  own  eloquence.  No  matter  what  he  had 
done,  by  hook  or  by  crook  he  always  managed  to  bring  about 
a  reconciliation  before  they  parted.  He  knew  the  Tenor's 
weak  point — Angelica — and  when  everything  else  failed  he 
would  play  upon  that  unmercifully.  But  he  had  a  way  of 
speaking  of  his  sister  which  often  made  the  Tenor  seriously 
angry.  He  did  not  believe  the  Boy  meant  half  the  disrespect 
with  which  he  mentioned  her,  but  it  galled  him,  nevertheless  ; 
and,  on  one  occasion,  when  the  Boy  had  repeated  some  scandal 
ous  gossip  to  which  the  Tenor  objected,  and  afterward  ex 
cused  himself  by  saying  that  it  was  not  his  but  his  sister's 
story,  the  Tenor's  indignation  overflowed,  and  he  lectured  him 
severely. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  4°t 

"  You  should  never  forget  that  your  sister  is  an  innocent 
girl,"  he  said,  "  and  it  is  degrading  to  her  even  to  have  her 
name  associated  with  such  ideas." 

But  the  Boy  only  grinned.  "  Bless  you,"  he  retorted,  "  don't 
make  so  much  ado  about  nothing.  She's  quite  as  wise  as 
we  are." 

The  Tenor's  eyes  flashed.  "  I  call  that  disloyal,"  he  said. 
"  Even  if  it  were  true — and  it  is  not  true — it  would  be  disloyal  ; 
and  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  If  you  ever  dare  to  speak  of  your 
sister  in  that  light  way  to  me  again,  I'll  thrash  you!" 

For  a  moment  the  Boy  was  astonished  by  the  threat.  His 
jaw  dropped,  and  he  stared  at  the  Tenor ;  but,  quickly 
recovering  himself,  he  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter.  "  Oh,  my  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  a  brother-in- 
law  you  would  be!  How  do  you  know. she  is  such  a  saint?" 

"  You  are  a  little  brute,"  was  all  the  answer  the  Tenor 
vouchsafed.  But  the  question  made  him  think.  He  could 
picture  her  to  himself  at  any  time  as  he  saw  her  in  the  canon's 
pew,  and  the  pale  proud  purity  of  her  face,  with  the  unvary 
ing  calm  of  her  demeanour,  were  assurances  enough  for  him. 
His  dear  lady.  His  delicate-minded  girl.  He  would  stop  it. 
He  would  make  this  scapegrace  brother  of  hers  respect  her, 
even  as  he  had  threatened,  if  necessary. 

"  Do  you  know  what  she  calls  you  ?  "  that  youth  asked  pres 
ently,  breaking  in  upon  the  Tenor's  meditation  in  a  confident 
way,  as  if  he  could  not  be  mistaken  about  the  subject  of 
it. 

But  the  Tenor  was  not  to  be  beguiled  all  at  once.  "  I  have 
already  requested  you  not  to  mention  your  sister  to  me,':  he 
said. 

" I  know,"  was  the  cool  rejoinder.  "But  I  promised  oii  my 
word  of  honour  to  tell  you  what  she  calls  you.  She  calls  you 
Israfil — Is-ra-fil,"  he  repeated,  "  the  angel  of  song,  you 
know." 

But  the  Tenor  made  no  sign.  The  Boy  watched  him  a 
moment,  and  then  continued  unabashed,  "  I  shall  call  you 
Israfil  myself,  I  think,  for  the  future.  But  I  like  your  own 
name  too  !  "  he  added.  "  I  have  only  just  found  it  out. 
Everybody  here  calls  you  the  Tenor,  you  know." 

"And  how  did  you  find  it  out,  pray,  if  I  may  ask  ?** 

"  I  looked  everywhere,"  said  the  Boy,  glancing  round  him 
comprehensively ;  "  and  at  last  I  found  it  on  the  back  of  an 
old  envelope  that  was  in  that  Bible  you  keep  in  your  bedroom. 


4° 2  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS, 

Here  it  is,"  and  he  took  it  out  of  his  pocket-book.  "  David 
Julian  Vanetemple,  Esq.,  Haysthorpe  Castle,  Hays,  N.  B." 

A  painful  spasm  contracted  the  Tenor's  face.  "Oh,  Boy," 
he  said,  in  a  deep  stern  voice  that  made  the  latter  quail  for 
once  ;  "  have  you  no  sense  of  honour  at  all?  You  must  give 
that  back  to  me  immediately." 

The  Boy  returned  it  without  a  word,  and  the  Tenor  went 
upstairs.  His  step  was  listless,  and  when  he  came  back  he 
looked  pale  and  disheartened.  He  sat  down  in  his  accustomed 
seat  beside  the  fireplace  farthest  from  the  window  that  looked 
out  upon  the  cathedral,  but  facing  it  himself,  and  rested  his 
elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  and  his  head  on  his  hand,  taking 
no  notice  of  the  Boy,  however,  who  waited  a  while,  casting 
anxious  glances  at  him,  and  then  rose  softly  and  stole  away. 

When  the  Tenor  roused  himself  he  found  a  slip  of  paper  on 
the  table  beside  him,  on  which  was  written,  "  Dear  Israfil,  I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  did  it  without  thinking.  I  will  never 
hurt  you  like  that  again,  only  forgive  me."  And  the  Tenor 
forgave  him. 

On  another  occasion,  when  there  was  peace  between  them, 
and  they  were  both  in  a  merry  mood,  the  Boy  said  he  had  a 
grievance,  and  when  the  Tenor  asked  what  it  was,  he  com 
plained  that  the  Tenor  had  never  taken  interest  enough  in  him 
to  ask  him  his  name. 

"  No,  now  you  mention  it,"  the  Tenor  answered.  "  I  never 
thought  of  your  having  a  name." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  me  such  a  nonentity  ?  " 

"Just  the  opposite.  Your  individuality  is  so  strongly 
marked  that  you  don't  seem  to  require  to  be  labelled  like  other 
people.  By-the-bye,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Claude." 

The  Tenor  laughed  ironically.  "  Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "  it  is 
Maude  you  mean  ;  delicate,  dainty,  white-fingered  Maude." 

But  the  Boy  only  roared.  This  kind  of  insinuation  never 
roused  his  resentment  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  delighted  him. 
"  Imagine  the  feelings  of  the  flowers,"  he  said,  with  a  burst  of 
laughter  that  convulsed  him,  "  if  my  remarkable  head,  sunning 
over  with  curls,  were  to  shine  out  on  them  suddenly,  and  want 
to  be  their  sun  !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  incorrigible,"  the  Tenor  answered. 
"  You  seem  to  glory  in  being  effeminate.  If  wholesome  ridicule 
has  no  effect,  you'll  die  an  old  woman  in  the  opprobrious  sense 
of  the  word." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S.  4°3 

"I'll  make  you  respect  these  delicate  fingers  of  mine, 
though,"  the  Boy  irritably  interposed,  and  then  he  took  up  his 
violin.  "I'll  make  you  quiver." 

He  drew  a  long  melodious  wail  from  the  instrument,  then 
lightly  ran  up  the  chromatic  scale  and  paused  on  an  upper  note 
for  an  instant  before  he  began,  with  perfect  certainty  of  idea 
and  marvellous  modulations  and  transitions  in  the  expression 
of  it,  to  make  music  that  steeped  the  Tenor's  whole  being  in 
bliss. 

The  latter  had  noticed  before  that  it  was  to  his  senses 
absolutely,  not  at  all  to  his  intellect,  that  the  Boy's  playing 
always  appealed  ;  but  he  did  not  quarrel  with  it  on  that 
account,  for  music  was  the  only  form  of  sensuous  indulgence 
he  ever  rioted  in,  and  besides,  once  under  the  spell  of  the 
Boy's  playing,  he  could  not  have  resisted  it  even  if  he  would, 
so  completely  was  he  carried  away.  The  Boy's  white  fingers 
were  certainly  not  out  of  place  at  such  work.  4<  Do  I  play  like 
an  old  woman  in  the  opprobrious  sense  of  the  word  ? "  he 
demanded,  mimicking  the  Tenor. 

"  Oh,  Boy  ! "  the  latter  exclaimed,  with  a  deep  drawn  sigh 
of  satisfaction.  "Yon  have  genius.  When  you  play  you  are 
like  that  creature  in  the  *  Witch  of  Atlas  '  : 

"  A  sexless  thing  it  was,  and  in  its  growth 
It  seemed  to  have  developed  no  defect 
Of  either  sex,  yet  all  the  grace  of  both." 

But  the  Boy  frowned  for  a  moment  at  the  definition,  and  then 
he  said  :  "  Is  that  what  you  call  genius  ?  Now  I  make  it  some 
thing  like  that,  only  different.  I  believe  it  is  the  attributes  of 
both  minds,  masculine  and  feminine,  perfectly  united  in  one 
person  of  either  sex." 

The  Tenor,  lolling  in  his  easy-chair,  smiled  at  him  lazily. 
There  was  no  end  to  his  indulgence  of  the  Boy  ;  but  still  he 
led  him,  by  example  principally,  but  also  by  suggestion,  as  on 
one  occasion  when  the  Boy  had  been  sketching  out  a  scheme 
of  life  in  which  self  was  all  predominant,  and  the  Tenor  asked : 
"  Do  you  never  feel  any  impulse  to  do  something  for  your  suf 
fering  fellow-creatures  ? " 

To  which  the  Boy  at  first  rejoined  derisively  :  "  Am  I  not 
one  of  the  best  of  their  benefactors  ?  Would  you  say  that  a 
fellow  who  plays  as  I  can  does  nothing  for  his  fellow-creatures  ? 
To  make  music  is  my  vocation,  and  I  follow  it  like  a  man." 


4°4  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

But  after  a  moment's  thought  he  confessed :  "  Once  indeed  1 
did  try  to  do  some  good  in  the  world,  but  I  failed  disastrously." 

"  What  did  you  try  ?  " 

"I  took  a  class  in  a  Sunday  school."  He  waited  to  enjoy 
the  effect  of  this  announcement  on  the  Tenor.  "  I  did,  indeed,'' 
he  protested  ;  "  but — eh — I  cannot  say  that  success  attended 
the  effort.  In  fact,  both  I  and  my  class  were  forcibly  ejected 
from  the  building  before  the  school  closed.  You  see,  I  had  no 
vocation,  and  it  was  foolish  to  experiment." 

The  Tenor  said  no  more  on  the  subject,  and  did  not  mean 
to,  but  the  Boy  returned  to  it  himself  eventually,  and  it  was 
evident  that  the  wish  to  do  something  for  somebody  was  taking 
possession  of  him  seriously.  This  was  the  Tenor's  tactful  way 
with  him ;  and  from  such  slight  indications  of  awakening 
thought  he  continued  to  augur  well  for  the  Boy. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SO  time  passed  on,  changing  all  things  greatly,  or  with 
infinitesimal  changes,  according  to  their  nature.  The 
colours  worn  in  crowded  thoroughfares  varied  with  the  varying 
fashions  ;  the  tint  of  the  summer  foliage  with  sun  and  rain  and 
dust.  Doors,  closed  the  whole  long  winter,  were  opened  now 
and  left  so,  and  the  young  people  passed  to  and  fro,  thronging 
to  river  banks,  but  lately  deserted  ;  to  the  cricket  fields, 
garden,  or  wood,  or  lawn.  The  very  faces  of  the  streets  were 
changing,  enlivened  by  plaster  and  paint  and  polish  :  the  face 
of  the  land  with  the  certain  advance  of  the  season  ;  the  faces 
of  friends  with  something  not  to  be  named,  but  visible,  strange, 
and,  for  the  most  part,  disheartening.  It  was  the  old  story  for 
ever  and  ever  ;  all  things  changed  always  ;  but  the  chime  was 
immutable. 

As  the  days  grew  gradually  to  weeks,  his  one  connecting  link 
with  the  outer  world  became  dearer  and  dearer  to  the  lonely 
Tenor.  The  nights  that  bfought  the  Boy  were  happy  nights, 
looked  forward  to  with  eagerness,  and  prepared  for  with  diffi 
culty.  For  at  this  time  the  Tenor  denied  himself  some  of  the 
bare  necessaries  of  life,  that  he  might  buy  him  the  Burgundy 
he  loved  to  sip  :  he  did  no  more  than  sip,  and,  therefore,  the 
Tenor  indulged  him ;  drink  was  not  to  be  one  of  his  vices, 
evidently. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  4°5 

The  Tenor,  although  he  would  not  have  acknowledged  it, 
held  that  the  Boy  was  a  creature  apart,  and  one,  therefore, 
whom  it  was  not  fair  to  measure  by  the  common  standard. 
Doubtless  the  manner  of  their  meeting  had  something  to  do 
with  this  idea.  The  Boy  was  associated  in  the  Tenor's  mind 
with  many  sweet  associations  ;  with  the  beautiful  still  night ; 
with  the  Tenor's  far  off  ideal  of  all  that  is  gracious  and 
womanly  ;  with  the  music  that  was  in  him  ;  and,  further,  with 
a  sympathetic  comprehension  of  those  moments  when  gray 
glimpses  of  the  old  cathedral,  or  a  warm  breath  of  perfumed 
air  from  the  garden,  or  some  slight  sound,  such  as  the  note  of 
a  night  bird  breaking  the  silence,  fired  a  train  of  deep  emotion, 
and  set  his  whole  poetic  nature  quivering,  to  the  unspeakable 
joy  of  it ;  joy  sanctified  by  reverence,  and  enlarged  beyond 
comparison  by  love. 

With  such  moods  as  these  the  Boy's  own  mood  was  always 
in  harmony  ;  so  much  so  indeed  that  the  Tenor  thought  it  was 
then  that  he  was  himself,  and  that  those  wild  ebullitions  of 
spirits  were  only  affected  to  disguise  some  deeper  feeling  of 
which,  boy-like,  he  was  ashamed.  As  their  intimacy  ripened 
there  were  times  when,  not  only  his  whole  demeanour,  but  his 
very  nature  seemed  to  change  ;  when  he  craved  for  dimness 
and  quiet ;  and  when  he  would  work  upon  the  Tenor  with 
little  caressing  ways  that  won  his  heart  and  drew  from  him, 
although  he  was  habitually  undemonstrative,  expressions  of 
tenderness  which  were  almost  paternal. 

In  his  quieter  moods  the  Boy  would  sit  in  the  dim  lamplight 
on  a  footstool  beside  the  Tenor's  chair,  leaning  his  head  against 
the  arm  of  it,  while  the  latter  smoked,  and  the  tap,  tap,  tap,  of 
the  clematis  and  honeysuckle  on  the  window  pane  kept  time  to 
the  thoughts  of  each.  Long  intervals  of  silence  were  natural 
to  the  Tenor,  and  it  was  generally  the  Boy  who  broke  the 
charm.  He  would  talk  seriously  then,  and  often  about  his 
sister,  and  was  not  to  be  silenced  until  he  had  had  his  say. 
He  conquered  the  Tenor  as  usual  by  his  persistence,  but  the 
latter  was  not  much  influenced  by  what  he  said  at  first. 
Gradually,  however,  and  by  dint  of  constant  iteration,  some  of 
the  Boy's  assertions  became  impressed  upon  his  mind.  He 
began  to  believe  that  Angelica  did  wish  to  make  his  acquain 
tance,  and  to  admit  to  himself  that  there  might  be  a  possibility 
of  winning  her  regard  eventually ;  but  his  high  mindedness 
shrank  from  approaching  a  girl  whose  social  position  was  so  far 
above  his  own — in  the  matter  of  money  that  is.  For  of  course 


4°6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

the  Tenor  had  a  proper  respect  for  art.  He  knew  that  to  be 
a  great  artist,  with  the  will  and  power  to  make  his  art  elevating, 
is  to  be  great  in  the  greatest  way  ;  and  he  also  knew  that  his 
own  gift  was  second  to  none.  But  would  she  link  her  lot  with 
his  ?  He  yearned  for  some  assurance.  He  had  no  ambition 
whatever  for  himself,  but  he  would  have  toiled  to  succeed  for 
her.  It  was  his  weakness  to  require  someone  to  work  for  as  he 
was  working  for  the  Boy  ;  a  purely  personal  ambition  seemed 
to  him  a  vexing,  vain,  and  insufficient  motive  for  action.  All 
selfless  people  suffer  from  indolence  when  only  their  own 
interests  are  in  question  ;  they  require  a  strong  incentive  from 
without  to  arouse  them.  Such  incentive  as  the  Tenor  had  was 
in  itself  a  pleasure  to  him,  a  refinement  of  pleasure  which 
might  be  coarsened,  which  certainly  would  be  impaired  by  any 
change.  He  had,  however,  begun  to  make  plans.  He  was 
determined  to  go  and  take  his  place  amongst  the  singers  of  the 
world  ;  but  when,  exactly,  he  had  not  decided.  As  the  Boy 
declared,  when  it  came  to  the  point  he  found  it  difficult  to  tear 
himself  away  from  Morningquest.  Of  course  he  would  go,  in 
fact  he  felt  he  must  go,  soon — say,  when  these  drawings  for  his 
good  friend  the  dean  were  finished. 

"  By  the  way,  Boy,"  he  asked  one  night,  *  what  is  your  family 
name  ?  and  who  are  your  people  ?  " 

"  My  family  name  is  Wells,"  the  boy  answered  demurely. 
"  My  father  has  a  little  place  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  my 
grandfather  lives  here  too." 

"  Wells,"  the  Tenor  repeated.     *  I  seem  to  know  the  name.' 

"  Oh,  doubtless,"  the  Boy  observed.  "  This  is  a  hotbed  of 
Wellses.  Israfil,"  he  pleaded — he  was  nestling  beside  the  Tenor 
in  the  dim  half  light,  watching  the  latter  smoke — "  Israfil,  tell 
me  all  about  yourself  ?  Tell  me  about  that  old  castle  in  the 
North  to  which  your  letter  was  addressed.  Tell  me  who  you 
are  ?  I  want  your  sympathy  " 

"  You  have  it  all,  dear  Boy,n  the  Tenor  said. 

"  I  shall  not  feel  that  I  have  until  you  ask  for  mine.  You 
would  not  deny  me  this  if  you  knew  what  a  stranger  I  am  to 
the  luxury  of  loving.  I  want  to  cultivate  the  power  to  care  for 
others.  Just  now  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  sympathise  with 
anyone  for  more  than  a  moment,  and  that  is  the  cause  of  all 
you  object  to  in  me.  But  if  you  would  confide  in  me,  if  you 
would  make  me  feel  that  I  am  nearer  to  you  than  anybody  else 
is,  I  believe  I  could  be  different." 

The  Tenor  reflected  for  a  little.     "  If  I  were  to  make  you 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  4° 7 

my  confidant,  Boy,  would  you  respect  my  confidence  ?  "  he  said 
at  last. 

"  Assuredly,"  the  Boy  replied.  "  I  promise  on  my  honour. 
You  shall  tell  her  yourself." 

The  Tenor  ignored  this  last  impertinence,  but  the  Boy  was 
not  abashed.  "  Israfil,"  he  pursued,  "  they  say  you  are  the  son 
of  an  actress  and  some  great  nobleman,  and  that  when  you  found 
it  out,  your  intolerable  pride  made  you  give  up  your  profession, 
and  come  and  bury  yourself  alive  in  Morningquest  because  you 
could  not  bear  the  stigma.  Are  you  the  son  of  such  parents, 
Israfil  ?  " 

The  Tenor  brushed  his  hand  back  over  his  hair.  "  Has 
your  sister  heard  these  reports  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  what  does  she  say  ?  * 

"  Oh,  she  doesn't  mind  !  She  rather  leans  to  the  nobleman 
theory  ;  and  when  people  of  that  kind — I  mean  the  nobility 
and  gentry,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  grin — "  (the  worst  of  being  in 
society  is  that  you  are  forced  to  know  so  many  disreputable 
people)  ;  when  they  come  to  our  house — and  they  do  come  in 
shoals,  Angelica  being  the  attraction,  you  know — then  we 
speculate.  Angelica  feels  quite  sure  that  the  Duke  of  Morning- 
quest  himself  is  your  father=  He  was  a  loose  old  fish,  they 
say.  And  there  is  a  sort  of  family  likeness  between  you. 
Angelica  thinks  you  came  here  that  your  presence  might  be  a 
continual  reproach  to  him.'* 

"  Not  a  very  worthy  thought,"  said  the  Tenor  drily. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Boy  with  much  candour.  "  I  could  not 
swear  it  was  Angelica's.  It  has  a  strong  family  likeness  to 
some  of  my  own." 

"  It  has,"  said  the  Tenor. 

He  was  lolling  in  his  deep  easy-chair  with  his  hands  folded 
on  his  vest  and  his  legs  crossed,  and  now  he  laid  his  sunny 
head  back  wearily  against  the  cushion,  and  looked  up  at  the 
ceiling.  It  was  his  accustomed  attitude  in  moments  of  abstrac 
tion,  and  the  Boy  let  him  alone  for  a  little,  watching  him  quietly. 
Then  he  grew  impatient,  and  broke  the  silence  :  "/r  it  true, 
Israfil  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Is  what  true  ?  "  lowering  his  eyes  to  look  at  him  without 
changing  his  position. 

"  Is  it  true  that  you  are  the  son  of  an  actress  and  a  duke  ? " 

"  Probably,"  the  Tenor  answered  ;  "  anything  is  probable 
where  the  most  absolute  uncertainty  prevails." 


408  THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  who  you  are  ?  "  the  Boy  exclaimed, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  disgust  due  to  baffled  curiosity. 

"  I  haven't  the  most  remote  idea,"  said  the  Tenor. 

"  I  don't  believe  you." 

"  Boy,  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  will  not  have  my  word 
doubted." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Boy.  "  You  are  always  autocratic. 
But  I  can't  believe  you  don't  know  who  you  are.  It  is  incredi 
ble.  You  would  never  give  yourself  such  airs  if  you  hadn't 
something  to  go  upon.  And,  besides,  you  command  respect 
naturally,  as  well-bred  people  do.  And  you  have  all  the  man 
ner  and  bearing  of  a  man  accustomed  to  good  society.  You 
have  the  accent,  too,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  The  difficulty  in 
your  case  is  to  believe  in  the  actress.  She  was  a  very  superior 
kind  of  actress,  I  suspect.  And,  at  any  rate,  you  must  have 
been  brought  up  and  educated  by  somebody.  Do  tell  me, 
Israfil.  I  am  burning  to  know." 

"  Your  curiosity  is  quite  womanish,  Boy." 

"  That  is  quite  the  right  word,"  the  Boy  answered  glibly. 
"  Women  are  generous  and  elevated,  and '  a  generous  and  elevated 
mind  is  distinguished  by  nothing  more  certainly  than  an  emi 
nent  curiosity.'  " 

The  Tenor  changed  his  position  slightly,  and,  in  doing  so, 
absently  laid  his  hand  on  the  Boy's  head  :  "  What  queer  dry 
hair  you  have,"  he  said. 

The  Boy  drew  back  resentfully.  "  I  wish  you  wouldn't  touch 
my  hair,"  he  said.  "  I  know  it's  nasty  dry  hair.  It's  a  sore 
point  with  me.  I  think  you  should  respect  it." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  the  Tenor  answered.  "I  really  didn't 
know  you  were  so  sensitive  on  the  subject.  But  why  on  earth 
do  you  come  so  close  ?  You  put  that  remarkable  head  of  yours 
under  my  hand,  and  then  growl  at  me  for  touching  it.  And 
really  it  is  a  temptation.  If  I  were  a  man  of  science  instead 
of  a  simple  artist  I  should  like  to  examine  it  inside  and 
out." 

The  Boy  put  both  hands  up  to  his  head  and  laughed,  delighted 
as  usual  by  any  jest  at  his  own  expense.  He  had  moved  his 
footstool  back  a  little  now,  and  sat,  stroking  his  upper  lip 
thoughtfully,  and  looking  at  the  Tenor.  There  was  a  mis 
chievous  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
his  desire  to  know  the  Tenor's  secret  history.  "  Why  don't 
you  wear  a  moustache  ?"  he  said  suddenly. 

The  Tenor  looked  at  him  lazily.     "  Well,  I  never  did  wear 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  409 

one,"  he  said.  "  But  I  could  not  in  any  case  have  worn  one 
with  a  surplice." 

The  Boy  nodded  his  head  sagely.  "  I  forgot,"  he  said.  "  Of 
course  that  would  have  been  bad  form.  A  parson  is  always 
vulgarized  in  appearance  by  wearing  a  military  moustache. 
The  effect  is  as  incongruous  as  a  tail  would  be  if  added  to  a 
figure  with  wings.  But,  tell  me,  do  you  think  my  moustache 
will  be  the  colour  of  my  eyebrows  when  it  comes  ? " 

"  Oh,  Boy  !  "  the  Tenor  exclaimed,  "  this  is  quite  refreshing  ; 
especially  from  you.  You  will  be  quite  young  in  time  if  you 
go  on." 

The  Boy  grinned  in  his  peculiar  way,  and  then  got  up  and 
began  to  walk  about  the  room.  The  Tenor  thought  from  the 
expression  of  his  face  that  he  was  meditating  mischief  ;  but 
before  he  had  time  to  put  it  into  effect  the  big  bell  boomed 
above  them,  striking  the  hour,  and  then  came  the  chime. 

The  Boy  hated  the  chime.  He  said  it  was  flat ;  he  said  it 
was  importunate,  like  an  ill-bred  person  ;  he  said  it  mingled 
inopportunely  with  everything ;  he  declared  it  had  a  spite 
against  him,  and  would  do  him  an  injury  if  it  could  ;  when  he 
was  good  he  said  it  made  him  bad,  and  when  he  was  bad  it, 
made  him  worse.  The  Tenor  had  expected  to  hear  him  swear 
at  it ;  but,  oddly  enough,  considering  some  of  his  aberrations, 
the  Boy  never  swore.  His  ideas  were  occasionally  shocking, 
but,  with  the  exception  of  certain  boyishnesses,  in  the  expression 
of  them  he  was  a  purist. 

He  went  off  now,  however,  anathematizing  the  chime,  and 
the  Tenor  was  almost  glad  to  get  rid  of  him.  The  Boy's 
superabundant  vitality  alone  was  fatiguing,  and  when  he  added, 
as  he  often  did,  a  certain  something  of  manner  to  it  which  was 
perplexing  and  irritating  in  the  extreme,  he  left  the  Tenor  not 
only  fatigued,  but  jarred  all  over.  Yet  he  spent  the  interval 
which  usually  elapsed  before  the  Boy  returned  in  making 
excuses  for  him,  and  also  in  making  preparations. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  Tenor  was  obliged  to  leave  the  window  of  his  sitting 
room  which  looked  out  on  the  little  grass  plot  in  front  of 
his  house  and  the  cathedral  opposite,  open  always  now,  rain, 
blow,  or  snow,  for  the  convenience  of  the  Boy.     The  latter 
had  changed  his  mind  about  forcing  an  entrance.      If  the 


410  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Tenor,  he  said,  would  not  make  it  quite  evident  that  he  wanted 
him  by  leaving  the  window  open  so  that  he  could  come  in  his 
own  way  whenever  he  chose,  he  should  not  come  at  all.  The 
window  was  his  way ;  and  on  one  occasion  when  he  had  found 
it  shut  he  had  gone  home,  intending,  as  he  afterward  declared, 
never  to  return  ;  but  he  had  changed  his  mind  and  reappeared 
after  an  unusually  long  interval,  when  the  Tenor,  to  use  the 
Boy's  own  phrase,  "  caught  it  "  for  his  want  of  hospitality.  Of 
course,  he  acknowledged,  he  might  have  come  in  by  the  door, 
or  he  might  have  knocked  at  the  window  ;  but  then  he  did  not 
choose  to  come  in  by  the  door  or  knock  at  the  window,  so  that 
was  all  about  it.  If  the  Tenor  wanted  to  see  him  he  knew 
how  to  make  him  feel  he  was  welcome,  and  so  on  until,  for  the 
sake  of  peace  and  quietness,  the  Tenor  was  again  obliged  to 
yield. 

Oh,  the  moods  of  that  terrible  Boy  !  No  two  the  same  and 
none  to  be  relied  on  !  Sometimes  he  was  like  a  wild  creature, 
there  was  no  holding  him,  no  knowing  what  he  would  do  next ; 
and  the  Tenor  used  to  tremble  lest  fc-  should  carry  out  one  of 
his  impossible  threats,  among  which  serenading  the  dean, 
upsetting  the  chime,  climbing  the  cathedral  spire  on  the  out 
side,  or  throwing  stones  at  the  stained-glass  saints  in  the  great 
west  window,  were  intentions  so  often  expressed  that  there 
seemed  some  likelihood  of  one  or  other  of  them  being  eventu 
ally  put  into  execution.  Then  again  he  would  saunter  in 
about  midnight,  and  sit  down  in  a  dejected  attitude,  looking 
unutterably  miserable  ;  he  would  hardly  answer  when  the 
Tenor  spoke  to  him,  and  if  he  did  not  speak  he  resented  it ; 
neither  would  he  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  make  music,  and  if  the 
Tenor  sang  he  sometimes  burst  into  tears. 

On  other  occasions  he  was  the  most  commonplace  creature 
imaginable.  He  would  talk  about  a  book  he  had  been  read 
ing,  a  new  picture  his  "people"  had  bought,  the  society  in  the 
neighbourhood  ;  anything,  in  fact,  to  which  the  Tenor  would 
listen,  and  the  latter  was  often  astonished  by  the  acuteness 
of  his  perceptions,  and  the  worldly  wisdom  of  his  conclu 
sions. 

The  Tenor  made  every  allowance  for  these  changes  of  mood, 
which,  if  they  were  trying  at  times — and  certainly  they  were 
trying — were  interesting  also  and  amusing.  He  knew  what  an 
affliction  the  sensitive,  nervous,  artistic  temperament  is  ;  what 
a  power  of  suffering  it  hides  beneath  the  more  superficial 
power  to  be  pleased  ;  and  he  pitied  the  Boy,  who  was  an  artist 


THE  HEAVENLY   T IV INS.  411 

in  every  sense.  He  also  thought  there  had  been  mistakes 
made  in  his  education. 

"  Did  you  ever  go  to  a  public  school,  Boy  ?  "  he  asked  one 
night. 

"  Well,  no,"  the  Boy  rejoined.  "  I  had  the  advantage  of 
being  educated  with  Angelica.  They  kindly  allowed  me  to 
share  her  tutor.  I  was  thrown  in,  you  understand,  just  to  fill 
up  his  time.  And  that  is  how  it  is  I  am  so  refined  and  culti 
vated.'* 

"  But  seriously  ?  "  said  the  Tenor. 

The  Boy  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  Seriously  ?  "  he  repeated. 
*'  But  do  you  think  it  delicate  to  question  me  so  closely  ?  Ah, 
I  see,  poor  fellow  !  You  don't  know  any  better.  But  really 
your  curiosity  is  quite  womanish.  I  will  tell  you,  however.  I 
had  the  misfortune  to  sever  my  femoral  artery  when  I  was  a 
brat,  and,  although  it  seems  to  have  come  quite  right  now,  it 
was  not  thought  advisable  for  me  to  rough  it  at  a  public 
school." 

"  But  why  on  earth  are  they  putting  you  in  the  army  ?  "  the 
Tenor  asked. 

"You  mean  I  am  much  too  pretty  ?"  said  the  Boy,  "not  to 
mention  my  brains  and  manners.  Well,  there  I  must  agree 
with  you.  It  does  seem  a  sad  waste  of  valuable  material.  But 
it  is  only  to  fill  up  an  interval.  I  shall  be  put  into  a  perma 
nent  billet  of  another  kind  eventually,  whether  I  like  it  or 
not." 

"You  mean  you  will  be  put  into  the  earth  to  enrich  it,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"  Well,  no.  I  was  not  so  smart,"  said  the  Boy.  "  Now,  that 
is  rather  a  good  one  for  you.  Oh,  I  suspect,  if  I  could  plumb 
your  depth,  I  should  find  myself  but  a  simple,  shallow  child  in 
comparison.  No  ;  what  I  meant  was  that  eventually  a  certain 
amount  of  earth  would  come  to  me  to  enrich  me." 

"  But  what  does  your  father  think  about  this  military 
manoeuvre  ?  " 

"My  father  think!'"  roared  the  Boy.  "O  Lord  !  you  don't 
know  my  father!  "  and  he  fairly  curled  himself  up  in  convul 
sions  of  silent  laughter,  which  the  Tenor  thought  unseemly 
considering  the  subject  of  it,  but  he  said  no  more.  He  knew 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  with  such  a  boy  but  to  wait 
and  hope  ;  and  that  was  the  attitude  into  which  the  Tenor 
found  himself  most  prone  to  fall  in  these  days  with  regard  to 
things  in  general ;  being  greatly  cheered  meanwhile  by  the 


THE  HEAVENLY  TV/IMS. 

sight  of  his  lovely  lady,  who  smiled  at  him  now  without  doubt, 
and  was  seldom  absent  from  her  accustomed  seat  in  the  Canon's 
pew  when  he  sang. 

The  Tenor  looked  better  now,  and  more  out  of  place  than 
ever  in  the  choir — better,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  sense  of  being 
more  attractive  ;  but  he  was  not  looking  strong,  and  the  com 
mon  faces  about  him  seemed  commoner  still  when  contrasted 
with  the  exceptional  refinement  of  his  own.  The  constant 
self-denial  he  had  been  obliged  to  exercise  in  order  to  indulge 
the  fancies  of  that  rapacious  Boy,  although  a  pleasure  in  itself, 
was  beginning  to  tell  upon  him.  His  features  had  sharpened 
a  little,  his  skin  was  transparent  to  a  fault,  and  the  brightness 
of  his  yellow  hair,  if  it  added  to  the  quite  peculiar  beauty, 
added  something  also  to  the  too  great  delicacy  of  his  face.  It 
was  the  brightness  ot  his  hair  that  suggested  such  names  for 
him  as  "  Balder  the  Beautiful"  and  "Son  of  the  Morning"  to 
the  Boy,  who  invariably  called  him  by  some  such  fanciful 
appellation. 

It  was  at  this  time,  too,  that  a  great  painter  came  to  Morning- 
quest  and  painted  a  picture  called  "  Music"  the  interest  of 
which  centred  in  the  Tenor  himself  singing,  while  Angelica 
gazed  at  him  as  if  she  were  spell-bound. 

The  Boy  used  to  describe  this  picture  to  the  Tenor  while  it 
was  in  progress,  but  the  latter,  listening  in  his  dreamy  way, 
was  under  the  impression  for  some  time  that  the  work 
was  one  of  his  young  friend's  own  imagination  only.  By  de 
grees,  however,  it  dawned  upon  him  that  the  picture  was  an 
actual  fact,  and  then  he  was  displeased.  He  thought  that  the 
artist  had  taken  a  liberty  with  regard  to  himself,  and  been 
guilty  of  an  impertinence  so  far  as  his  lovely  lady  was  con 
cerned. 

"  Well,  so  I  told  him,"  said  the  Boy.  "  But  you  know,  dear 
Israfil,  that  in  the  interests  of  art  as  well  as  in  the  interests  of 
science,  men  are  carried  away  to  such  an  extent  that  they 
sometimes  forget  to  be  scrupulous.  It  is  curious,"  he  broke 
off,  gazing  at  the  Tenor  critically,  "  that  Angelica  should 
specially  admire  your  chin.  It  is  your  mouth  that  appeals  to 
me.  You  have  a  regular  Rossitti-Burne-Jones-Dante's-Dream- 
and-Blessed-Damosel  kind  of  mouth,  with  full  firm  lips.  I 
should  think  you're  the  sort  of  fellow  that  women  would  like  to 
kiss.  Don't  try  to  look  as  if  you  wouldn't  kiss  a  woman  just 
once  in  a  way,  dear  old  chap  !  Women  hate  men  like  priests, 
who  mustn't  kiss  them  if  they  would  ;  and  they  have  no 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  4*3 

respect  for  other  men  who  wouldn't  kiss  them  if  they  could. 
I  know  Angelica  hasn't  !  " 

The  last  words  were  delivered  from  outside  in  the  garden 
after  the  Boy  had  made  his  escape  through  the  window. 

CHAPTER  XL 

HOW  long  the  Tenor's  dream  would  have  remained  unbroken 
by  action  it  is  hard  to  say.  His  want  of  personal  ambition, 
his  perfect  serenity  of  mind,  and  his  thankfulness  for  a  state 
of  things  so  much  more  blissful  than  anything  he  had  ever 
expected  to  fall  to  his  lot  again  ;  the  languid  summer  weather, 
and  his  affectionate  anxiety  for  the  Boy,  all  combined  to  keep 
him  in  Morningquest,  and  to  keep  his  indefinite  plans  for  the 
future  still  in  abeyance. 

Other  people,  however,  were  not  so  apathetic.  The  dean's 
friendly  remonstrances  had  been  redoubled  of  late  ;  the  Boy 
had  become  importunate  ;  and  even  the  mild  musicians  of 
Morningquest,  whose  boast  it  was  to  have  that  bright  particular 
star  in  their  own  little  firmament,  ventured  to  hint  respectfully 
that  he  was  not  doing  his  duty  by  himself.  All  this  kindly 
interest  in  his  future  career  was  not  without  its  effect  upon 
him,  and  if  it  did  not  actually  rouse  him  to  act,  it  put  him  in 
the  mood  to  be  aroused. 

He  was  sitting  alone  one  evening  in  his  accustomed  seat 
beside  the  fireplace,  or  rather  beside  the  bank  of  ferns  and 
flowering  plants  which  he  had  arranged  before  the  fireplace  so 
as  to  hide  it,  at  the  instigation  of  the  Boy.  A  shaded  lamp 
stood  on  a  table  behind  him,  throwing  its  softened  light  from 
over  his  shoulder  on  to  the  big  book  which  lay  open  on  his 
knee.  But  he  was  not  reading.  He  had  placed  his  hands 
upon  the  book,  and  was  resting  his  head  on  the  back  of  the 
chair.  His  yellow  hair  seemed  to  shine  out  of  the  surrounding 
gloom  with  a  light  of  its  own  ;  but  his  face  was  in  shadow. 

The  window  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  behind  him  was 
shut,  and  the  creepers  outside  brushed  gently  against  it,  tap 
ping  now  and  then,  and  keeping  up  a  continual  soft  rustle  and 
murmur  of  leaves,  like  friendly  voices,  soothing  insensibly. 

The  other  window  was  open  as  usual,  and  as  he  sat  now  he 
could  see  the  old  cathedral  opposite  towering  above  him.  It 
was  a  bright  moonlight  night ;  the  shadows  were  strong,  and 
the  details  of  the  facade,  flying  buttress,  gargoyle  and  cornice, 


414  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

with  a  glimpse  of  the  apse  and  spire,  were  all  distinct.  But 
as  the  Tenor  thoughtfully  perused  them,  the  whole  fabric 
suddenly  disappeared  from  view,  blotted  out  by  an  opaque 
body  round  which  the  moonlight  showed  like  a  rim  of  silver, 
tracing  in  outline  the  slender  figure  of  the  Boy.  The  Tenor 
had  forgotten  him  for  once,  and  was  startled  from  his  reverie 
by  the  unexpected  apparition  ;  but  he  did  not  alter  his  position 
or  make  any  sign.  The  Boy  preferred  to  come  and  go  like 
that,  ungreeted  and  unquestioned,  and  the  Tenor  of  course 
humoured  this  harmless  peculiarity  with  the  rest. 

The  Boy  sauntered  in  now  in  a  casual  way,  arranged  his  hair 
at  a  mirror,  threw  himself  into  an  armchair,  leant  back,  crossed 
his  legs,  folded  both  hands  on  his  hat,  which  he  held  on  his 
knee,  and  looked  at  the  Tenor  lazily. 

In  the  little  pause  that  followed,  the  Tenor  glanced  at  his 
book  again,  and  then  he  closed  it. 

"  Israfil,"  the  Boy  said  suddenly,  leaning  forward  to  look  at 
the  book,  as  if  to  make  sure,  and  speaking  in  an  awestruck 
voice — "  is  that  the  Bible  you  were  reading  ? " 

Any  evidence  of  the  Tenor's  simple  piety,  which  was  neither 
concealed  nor  displayed,  because  it  wras  in  no  way  affected  but 
quite  natural  to  him,  and  he  was,  therefore,  unconscious  of  it, 
had  a  peculiar  effect  upon  the  Boy.  It  seemed  to  shock  him. 
But  whether  it  made  him  feel  ashamed  or  not,  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  Sometimes,  the  first  effect  over,  he  would  remain 
thoughtful,  as  if  subdued  by  it  ;  but  at  others  it  appeared  to 
have  irritated  him,  and  made  him  aggressively  cynical. 

To-night  he  was  all  subdued. 

"  You  believe  it,  Israfil,  don't  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  *  He  watch 
ing  '  is  a  fact  for  you  ?  " 

The  Tenor  did  not  answer,  except  by  folding  his  hands  upon 
his  book  again,  and  looking  at  the  Boy. 

"  Now  /  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  the  latter  pursued,  "  but 
it  makes  me  feel.  I  have  my  moments.  The  Bible  is  a 
wonderful  book.  I  open  it  sometimes,  and  read  it  haphazard. 
I  did  last  night,  and  came  upon — oh,  Israfil,  the  grand  simpli 
city  of  it  all  !  the  wonderful  solemn  earnestness  !  It  brought 
me  to  my  knees,  and  made  me  hold  up  my  hands  ;  but  I  could 
not  pray.  I  heard  the  chime,  though,  that  night.  It  sounded 
insistent.  It  seemed  to  assert  itself  in  a  new  way.  It  was  as 
if  it  spoke  to  me  alone,  and  I  felt  a  strange  sense  of  something 
pending — something  for  which  I  shall  have  to  answer.  *  He 
watching.'  Yes.  I  feel  all  that.  But  " — dejectedly — "  one 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  4*5 

feels  so  much  more  than  one  knows  ;  and  when  I  want  to 
know,  I  am  never  satisfied.  Trying  to  find  the  little  we  know 
amongst  the  lot  that  we  feel  is  a  veritable  search  for  mignonette 
seeds  in  sand." 

The  Tenor  continued  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  time.  "  But 
do  you  never  pray,  dear  Boy  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

The  Boy  shook  his  head. 

"  Did you  never?" 

"Oh,  yes,"— more  cheerfully.  "  I  used  to  believe  in  all  the 
bogies  at  one  time." 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  been  brought  under  some  bad  influ 
ence,  then.  Tell  me,  who  was  it  ?  " 

"  Angelica,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Oh,  Boy  !  your  sister  !  " 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  that  young  lady  !  "  the  Boy  rejoined, 
with  his  cynical  chuckle.  "  She  is  very  fascinating,  I  allow  ; 
but  always,  in  her  conversation,  '  the  serpent  hisses  where  the 
sweet  bird  sings.' " 

The  Tenor  toyed  with  the  cover  of  his  book,  and  was  silent. 

After  a  time  the  Boy  spoke  diffidently.  "  But  do  you  pray, 
Israfil  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  the  Tenor  answered.  "  I  try  to  make  prayer  the 
attitude  of  my  mind  always — I  mean  I  try  to  be,  and  to  do, 
and  to  think  nothing  that  I  could  not  make  a  subject  of  prayer 
at  any  time.  But  I  do  not  think  that  a  direct  petition  is  the 
only  or  best  way  to  pray.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  in  a  cer 
tain  attitude  of  mind  we  find  the  highest  form  of  prayer,  a 
reverential  attitude  toward  all  things  good  and  beautiful,  by 
which  we  attain  to  an  inexpressible  tenderness,  that  enemy  of 
evil  emotions,  and  also  to  rest  and  peace  and  a  great  deep 
solemn  joy  which  is  permanent." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  knew  a  man  before  who  prayed  regu 
larly,"  the  Boy  observed  thoughtfully,  rising  as  he  spoke,  and 
standing  with  his  hat  on  :  "except  the  clergy,  I  suppose.  But 
then  that  is  their  profession,  and  so  one  thinks  nothing  of  it. 
But  I  wonder  if  many  men  of  the  world  pray  ?  I  suppose 
they  have  to  give  up  everything  that  makes  life  pleasant  before 
they  can  conscientiously  begin." 

"  Far  from  it,"  said  the  Tenor,  smiling.  "  But  you  are  going 
early  !  Aren't  you  hungry  ? " 

The  Boy  grinned  as  if  the  insinuation  were  flattering.  "No, 
I  am  not  hungry,"  he  answered.  "  I  dined  at  home  to-night 
for  a  wonder,  and  when  I  do  that  I  don't  generally  want  anv 


Tim  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

more  for  some  time.  By  home  I  mean  at  my  grandad's,  where 
they  always  have  seven  or  eight  courses,  and  I  can't  resist  any 
of  them.  I  lose  my  self-respect,  but  satisfy  my  voracity,  which 
has  the  effect  of  improving  the  greediness  out  of  my  mind. 
But  I  am  in  a  hurry  this  evening,  and  I  have  already  outstayed 
my  time.  I  only  came  in  for  a  moment  to  ask  you  if  you  are 
to  sing  to-morrow  ?  " 

The  Tenor  nodded. 

"  In  that  case  I  am  to  beg  you  for  '  Waft  her,  Angels/ 
Angelica  ventures  to  make  the  request.  Good-night !" 

The  words  were  scarcely  spoken,  and  his  flying  footsteps 
were  still  audible  as  he  ran  lightly  up  the  Close,  when  the 
cathedral  clock  began  to  strike.  There  was  only  one  emphatic 
throb  of  the  iron  tongue,  followed  by  a  long  reverberation,  and 
then  came  the  chime. 

The  Tenor,  who  had  risen,  stood  listening,  with  upturned 
face,  until  the  end. 

But  the  chime  failed  of  its  effect  for  once.  There  was  some 
thing  weary  and  enigmatical  in  the  old  worn  strain.  Hitherto, 
it  had  always  been  a  comfort  and  an  assurance  to  him,  but 
to-night,  for  the  first  time,  it  was  fraught  with  some  porten 
tous  meaning.  Was  there  any  cause  for  alarm  in  what  was 
happening  ?  any  reason  for  fear  that  should  make  it  merciful  to 
prepare  him  with  migivings  ?  It  was  no  new  thing  for  the 
Tenor  to  be  asked  to  sing  something  special,  and  he  tried  to 
think  such  a  request,  although  it  came  from  Angelica — if 
indeed  it  came  from  her,  and  was  not  a  fabrication  of  the 
Boy's — was  a  whim  as  trifling  as  the  rest.  But  even  if  it  were, 
trifles,  as  all  the  world  knows,  are  not  to  be  despised.  Some 
one  has  said  already  that  they  made  up  the  sum  of  life,  and  it 
may  also  be  observed  that  the  hand  of  death  is  weighted  by 
them. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Tenor  happened  to  be  entering  the  cathedral  next 
day  for  the  afternoon  service  just  as  Angelica  was  being 
handed  from  a  carriage  by  a  singular  looking  man  who  wore 
pince-nez,  was  clean  shaven,  and  had  an  immense  head  of  hair. 
Angelica  very  evidently  called  the  attention  of  this  gentleman 
to  the  Tenor  as  he  passed,  and  the  latter  heard  the  "  Ach  !  "  of 
satisfaction  to  which  the  stranger  gave  utterance  when  he  had 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  4*7 

adjusted  \\ispince-nez  with  undisguised  interest,  and  taken  the 
Tenor  in. 

The  latter  felt  that  he  had  seen  the  man  before,  and  while 
he  was  putting  on  his  surplice  he  remembered  who  he  was,  an 
impresario,  well-known  by  sight  to  regular  opera  goers  and  musi 
cians  generally.  Having  established  his  identity,  the  reason 
of  his  presence  there  that  afternoon  was  at  once  apparent. 
The  Tenor  had  been  requested  to  sing  a  solo  which  was  admir 
ably  calculated  to  display  the  range  and  flexibility  of  his  voice 
to  the  best  advantage,  and  the  impresario  had  been  brought  to 
hear  him.  The  mountain  had  come  to  Mahomet. 

The  Tenor  never  sang  better  than  upon  that  occasion,  and 
he  had  scarcely  reached  his  cottage  after  the  service  was  over, 
when  the  impresario  burst  in  upon  him,  having,  in  his  eagerness, 
omitted  the  ceremony  of  knocking.  He  seized  the  Tenor's 
hand,  exclaiming  in  broken  English  :— "  Oh,  my  tear  froind, 
you  are  an  ideal  !  "  Then  he  flung  his  hat  on  the  floor,  and 
curvetted  about  the  room,  alternately  rubbing  his  hands  and 
running  his  fingers  upward  through  his  luxuriant  hair  till  it 
stood  on  end  all  over  his  head.  "And  have  I  found  you  ?" 
he  cried  sentimentally,  apostrophising  the  ceiling.  "  Oh,  have 
1  found  you?  What  a.  Lohengrin!  Ach  Gott  !  it  is  the  prince 
himself.  Boat  " — and  he  stopped  prancing  in  order  to  point 
his  long  forefinger  at  the  Tenor's  chest — "boat  you  are  an 
actor  born,  my  froind  !  You  was  the  Prince  of  Devotion  him 
self  jus'  now.  You  do  that  part  as  if  you  feel  him  too  ! 
Why  " — jerking  his  head  towards  the  cathedral  with  a  gesture 
which  signified  that  if  he  had  not  seen  the  thing  himself  he 
never  could  have  believed  it — "  why,  you  loose  yourself  in 
there  kompletely  !  "  Then  he  asked  the  Tenor  to  sing  again, 
which  the  Tenor  did,  being  careful,  however,  not  to  give  his 
excitable  visitor  too  much  lest  the  intoxicating  draught  should 
bring  on  a  fit.  ^ 

The  music-mad-one  had  come  to  make  the  Tenor  golden 
offers,  and  he  did  not  leave  him  now  until  the  Tenor  had 
agreed  to  accept  them. 

The  dean  came  in  by  chance  in  time  to  witness  the  conclu 
sion  of  the  bargain,  adding  .by  his  congratulations  and  good 
wishes  to  the  Tenor's  own  belief  that  such  an  opportunity  was 
not  to  be  lost.  The  drawings  the  Tenor  had  been  doing  for 
the  dean  were  all  but  finished  now,  and  it  was  arranged  that  the 
Tenor  should  enter  upon  his  new  engagement  in  one  month's 
time. 


418  THE  HEAVENL 

When  he  found  himself  alone  at  last  and  could  think  the 
matter  over,  he  was  thoroughly  content  with  what  he  had  done, 
There  could  be  no  doubt  now  as  to  whose  wish  it  was  that  he 
should  go  and  make  a  name  for  himself,  and  he  felt  sure  that 
the  step  he  was  about  to  take  would  not  lead  to  the  separation 
he  dreaded,  but  rather  to  the  union  for  which  he  might  at  last 
without  presumption,  after  such  encouragement,  venture  to 
hope. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  FEW  nights  after  the  Tenor  had  signed  the  agreement 
the  Boy  burst  in  upon  him,  exclaiming  in  guttural  ac 
cents  :  "  Oh,  my  tear  froind  !  have  I  found  you  ?  "  Then  he 
threw  his  hat  on  the  floor  and  began  to  prance  up  and  down, 
waving  his  hands  ecstatically. 

The  Tenor  picked  up  a  cushion  and  threw  it  at  him.  "You 
wretched  Boy  !  "  he  said,  laughing.  "  Who  told  you  he  did 
that?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Israfil  !  "  the  Boy  replied.  "  Why  on  earth 
do  you  ask  who  /<?A/me?  You  must  know  by  this  time,  and 
if  you  don't  you  should,  that  genius  does  not  require  to  be 
told.  Given  the  man  and  the  circumstances,  and  we'll  tell  you 
exactly  what  he'll  do,  don't  you  know,"  and  the  Boy  showed 
his  teeth. 

But  the  Tenor  was  not  convinced.  "  Knowing  your  patience 
and  zeal  when  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge — I  think 
that  was  the  euphemism  you  employed  the  last  time  you  had 
to  apologize  for  the  unscrupulous  indulgence  of  your  boundless 
curiosity,"  the  Tenor,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  Boy, 
observed  with  easy  deliberation,  as  he  filled  and  lighted  a 
pipe,  "  I  have  little  doubt  that  you  assisted  at  the  interview 
from  some  safe  coigne  of  'vantage — to  borrow  another  of 
your  pet  expressions — perhaps  from  the  closet  under  the  stairs 
there " 

"Or  from  behind  the  sofa,"  the  Boy  suggested,  with  that 
enigmatical  grin  of  his  which  the  Tenor  disliked,  perhaps 
because  it  was  enigmatical.  "  Like  my  new  suit,  Israfil  ?  "  he 
demanded  in  exactly  the  same  tone.  He  had  on  a  spotless 
flannel  boating  suit,  with  a  silk  handkerchief  of  many  colours, 
knotted  picturesquely  round  his  neck. 

"It's  too  new,"  said  the  Tenor.  "It  looks  as  if  you'd  got 
it  for  private  theatricals,  and  taken  great  care  of  it." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  4*9 

The  Boy  laughed,  and  then,  assuming  another  character, 
he  began  to  remonstrate  with  himself  playfully  in  the  Tenor's 
voice. 

"Boy,  will  you  never  be  more  manly  ?"  and  "  Don't  mock, 
Boy  !  "  and  "  Boy,  you  have  no  soul !  "  and  "Oh,  Boy,  you're 
not  high-minded."  Then  he  did  a  love  scene  between  the 
Tenor  and  Angelica.  The  Tenor  tried  to  stop  this  last  per 
formance,  but  he  only  made  matters  worse,  for  the  Boy  argued 
the  question  out  in  Angelica's  voice,  taking  the  part  of  "dear 
Claude " — he  still  insisted  that  his  name  was  Claude — and 
ending  with  :  "  Dear  Israfil,  we  are  so  happy  ourselves,  I  think 
Claude  should  have  a  little  latitude  to-night.  He  studies  so 
hard,  poor  boy,  he  deserves  some  indulgence." 

When  this  amusement  ceased  to  divert  him,  he  announced 
his  intention  of  going  on  the  stage,  of  not  going  home  till 
morning,  and  of  being  rowed  down  the  river  in  the  meantime. 

"  But  where  will  you  get  a  boat  at  this  time  of  night  ? "  the 
Tenor  objected. 

"  You're  not  a  man  of  much  imagination,"  said  the  Boy,  "or 
you  wouldn't  have  asked  such  a  question.  How  do  you  sup 
pose  I  come  every  night,  after  all  the  world  is  barred  and 
bolted  out  of  your  sacred  Close,  and  the  alternative  lies  between 
the  porter  at  the  postern,  whom  you  know  I  shun,  and  the 
water-gate  ? " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  row  yourself  down  the  river,  every 
time  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  the  boy  complacently. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  could  !  "  was  the  Tenor's  naive  ejacula 
tion. 

The  Boy  was  delighted.  "  It  never  struck  you,  I  suppose," 
he  chuckled,  "  that  my  fragile  appearance  might  be  delusive  ? 
Haven't  you  noticed  I  never  tire  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Tenor.  "  But  I  thought  that  you  probably 
paid  for  these  nights  of  dissipation  by  days  of  languor." 

The  boy  laughed  again.  "  Don't  know  the  sensation,"  he 
declared.  "  Days  of  laziness  would  be  nearer  the  mark.  I 
have  plenty  of  them." 

It  was  a  lovely  night,  all  pervaded  by  the  fragrance  of  the 
flowers  in  the  gardens  round  about  the  Close. 

They  sauntered  out,  turning  to  the  left  from  the  Tenor's 
cottage,  the  cathedral  being  on  their  right,  the  cloisters  in 
front.  The  Boy  walked  up  to  the  latter  and  peeped  in. 
"  Come  here,  dear  Israfil,"  he  said  obligingly,  "and  I  will  show 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

you  the  beauties  of  the  place.  These  are  the  cloisters,  and,  as 
you  see,  they  form  a  hollow  square,  nearly  two  hundred  feet 
long,  and  twelve  feet  wide.  Yon  slowly  rising  moon  shows  the 
bare  quadrangle  in  the  centre,  and  the  tracery  of  the  windows 
opposite  ;  but  the  exquisite  groining  of  the  roof,  and  the 
quaintly  sculptured  bosses,  are  still  hidden  in  deep  darkness. 
The  light,  however,  brightens  in  the  northeast  corner,  and — if 

you  weren't  in  such  a  hem  hurry,  Israfil "  The  Tenor 

had  walked  on,  but  the  Boy  stayed  where  he  was,  and  now 
began  to  improve  the  occasion  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

The  Tenor  returned  hurriedly.  "  For  Heaven's  sake  hold 
your  tongue  ! "  he  expostulated.  "  You'll  wake  the  whole 
Close." 

"  I  was  calling  your  attention  to  the  details  of  the  architec 
ture,"  the  Boy  rejoined  politely  ;  and,  as  usual,  for  the  sake  of 
peace  and  quietness,  the  unfortunate  Tenor  was  obliged  to  hear 
him  out. 

When  he  stopped,  the  Tenor  exclaimed  "  Thank  Heaven  !  " 
devoutly,  then  added,  "  No  fear  for  your  exams,  Boy,  if  you 
can  cram  like  that.  But  I  did  not  know  you  were  a  cultivated 
archaeologist/' 

"Nor  am  I,"  said  the  Boy  with  a  shiver.  "I  hate  architec 
ture,  and  I  don't  want  to  know  about  it,  but  I  can't  help  pick 
ing  it  up.  It  is  horrid  to  remember  that  that  arch  yonder  was 
built  in  the  time  of  William  the  Conquerer.  I  never  look  at  it 
without  feeling  the  oppression  of  the  ages  come  upon  me.  And 
when  I  get  into  this  bigoted  Close  and  think  of  the  heathenish 
way  the  people  live  in  it,  shutting  themselves  in  from  the  rest 
of  the  citizens  with  unchristian  ideas  of  their  own  superiority, 
I  am  confirmed  in  my  unbelief.  I  feel  if  there  were  any  truth 
in  that  religion,  those  who  profess  it  would  have  begun  to 
practice  its  precepts  by  this  time  ;  they  would  not  be  content  to 
teach  it  for  ever  without  trying  it  themselves.  And  oh  !  " — 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  cathedral — "  I  loathe  the  deeds  of  dark 
ness  that  are  done  there  in  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

"  What  unhappy  experience  are  you  alluding  to,  Boy?  "  said 
the  Tenor,  concerned. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Edith — poor  Edith  Beale,"  the  Boy 
replied.  "But  don't  ask  me  to  tell  you  that  story  if  you 
have  not  heard  it.  It  makes  my  blood  boil  with  indignation." 

"  I  have  heard  it,"  the  Tenor  answered  sadly.  "  But,  Boy, 
dear,  every  honest  man  deplores  such  circumstances  as  much 
as  you  do," 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  421 

"  Then  why  do  they  occur  ?  "  the  Boy  asked  hotly.  "  If  the 
honest  men  were  in  earnest,  such  blackguardism  would  not  go 
unpunished.  But  don't  let  us  talk  about  it." 

They  went  through  the  arm  of  the  Close  in  the  centre  of 
which  the  lime  trees  grew  round  a  grassy  space  enclosed  from 
the  road  by  a  light  iron  railing.  "  This  is  grateful  !  "  the  Boy 
exclaimed,  as  they  passed  under  the  old  trees,  lingering  a  while 
to  listen  to  the  rustle  and  murmur  of  the  leaves.  Then  they 
emerged  once  more  into  the  moonlight,  and  took  their  way 
down  the  little  lane  that  led  to  the  water-gate.  Here  they 
found  an  elegant  cockle-shell  of  a  boat  tied  up,  "a  most  lady 
like  craft,"  said  the  Tenor. 

"I'll  steer,"  said  the.  Boy,  fixing  the  rudder,  and  then 
arranging  the  cushions  for  himself,  while  the  Tenor  meekly 
took  the  oars. 

With  one  strong  stroke  he  brought  the  boat  into  mid-stream, 
then  headed  her  down  the  river  toward  the  sea,  and  settled 
to  his  oars  with  a  long  steady  pull  that  roused  the  admiration 
of  the  Boy. 

"  You  row  like  a  'Varsity  man,"  he  said. 

"  So  I  should,"  was  the  laconic  rejoinder. 

"Are  you  a  'Varsity  man  ? " 

"  I  am." 

"  Oxford,  then,  I'll  bet.     And  did  you  take  your  degree  ?  " 

The  Tenor  nodded. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  queer  chap  !  "  said  the  Boy.  *'  Were  you 
expelled  ?  The  Tenor  shook  his  head.  "  Did  you  do  any- 
/7//V/j£f  disgraceful  ?"  The  Tenor  again  made  a  sign  of  nega 
tion.  "  Then  why  on  earth  did  you  come  and  bury  yourself 
alive  in  Morningquest  ?  " 

"  That  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  rowing  you  down  the 
river  by  moonlight,  apparently,"  the  Tenor  answered,  but 
without  a  smile. 

"  I'd  give  my  ears  to  know  ! "  the  Boy  ejaculated. 

"  I  quite  believe  you  would  !  "  said  the  Tenor,  pausing  to 
speak  ;  after  which  he  bent  to  his  oars  with  a  will,  and  the 
banks  became  a  moving  panorama  to  their  vision  as  they 
passed.  Now  they  swept  under  a  light  iron  bridge  that  crossed 
the  river  with  one  bold  span,  and  connected  a  busy  thorough 
fare  of  the  city  with  a  pleasant  shady  suburb  beyond.  Then 
they  wound  round  a  curve,  and  on  their  left  was  a  broad 
towing-path,  and  beautiful  old  trees,  and  a  high  paling  made 
of  sleepers  shutting  out  the  view ;  while  on  the  right,  those 


422  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S. 

crowded  dwellings  of  the  poor  which  add  so  much  to  a  picture, 
especially  by  moonlight,  and  so  little  to  the  loveliness  of  life, 
rose  from  the  water's  edge  and  straggled  up  the  rising  ground, 
tumbling  over  each  other  in  every  sort  of  picturesque  irregu 
larity.  Ahead  of  them,  the  river  was  landlocked  by  a  wooded 
hill ;  and,  also  facing  them,  was  an  old  round  tower  on  the 
towing-path,  above  which  the  round  moon  shown  in  an  empty 
indigo  sky. 

"Stop  a  minute,  Israfil,"  said  the  Boy,  "  and  turn  your  head. 
Who  does  it  make  you  think  of?" 

"  Old  Chrome,"  the  Tenor  answered,  looking  over  his  shoul 
der.  "  It  is  perfect." 

The  river  was  quite  narrow  here,  and  on  either  side  were 
long  lines  of  pleasure-boats  moored  to  the  bank,  and  an  occa 
sional  flat  tied  up  for  the  night,  with  its  big  brown  sails,  look 
ing  like  webbed  wings,  hoisted  to  dry.  Further  on  they  met  a 
barge  coming  up  the  river,  and  the  Boy  wished  the  man  who 
was  steering  a  polite  good-night,  and  hoped  he'd  have  a  pleas 
ant  passage  and  no  bad  weather ;  to  which  piece  of  facetious- 
ness  the  bargee  replied  good-humouredly,  having  mistaken  the 
boy's  contralto  for  a  woman's  voice,  an  error  of  judgment  at 
which  the  latter  affected  to  rage,  much  to  the  amusement  of 
the  Tenor. 

But  they  were  out  of  the  city  by  this  time.  On  their  right 
was  a  gentleman's  park,  well-wooded,  and  sloping  up  from  the 
river  to  a  gentle  eminence  crowned  by  a  crest  of  trees ;  on 
their  left,  across  some  fields,  the  villas  of  that  pleasant  suburb 
before  mentioned  studded  the  rising  ground,  appearing  also 
among  old  trees,  beneath  which  they  and  their  quiet  gardens 
nestled  peacefully.  There  were  trees  everywhere — beech  and 
laburnum  and  larch,  horsechestnut  and  lime  and  poplar,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  the  latter,  standing  straight  up 
in  the  barer  spots,  were  a  notable  feature  in  the  landscape,  as 
were  also  the  alder-cars  and  occasional  osier  beds  dotted  about 
in  marshy  places. 

The  pleasant  suburb  straggled  out  to  an  ancient  village,  past 
which  a  reach  of  the  river  wound,  but  the  Boy  kept  the  boat  to 
the  main  stream.  They  could  see  the  village  street,  however, 
with  the  quaint  church  on  the  level ;  and  light  warm  airs 
brought  them  odours  of  roses  and  mignonette  from  the  gar 
dens.  It  had  been  a  long  pull  for  a  hot  night,  and  the  Tenor 
shipped  his  oars  here,- and  threw  himself  back  in  the  bow  to 
rest.  He  lay  looking  up  at  the  sky  while  they  drifted  back 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  4*3 

little  by  little  with  the  tide.  The  balmy  air,  the  lop-lop  of  the 
water  against  the  boat,  the  rock  and  sway  and  sense  of  dreamy 
movement,  and  ever  and  anon  the  nightingales,  made  a  time  of 
soft  excitement,  such  as  the  Boy  loved. 

"  O  Israfil !  "  he  burst  out ;  "  isn't  it  delicious  just  to  be 
alive  ? " 

He  was  lolling  in  the  stern  with  his  hat  off,  his  legs  stretched 
out  before  him,  and  a  tiller  rope  in  each  hand,  the  image  of 
indolent  ease.  "  Yes,  this  is  perfect,"  he  added  ;  "  it  is  para 
dise." 

"  Not  for  you,  I  should  think,"  said  the  Tenor,  "  without  an 
Eve." 

"  Now,  there  you  mistake  me,"  the  Boy  replied.  "  If  there 
be  one  thing  I  deprecate  more  than  another  it  is  the  imperti 
nent  intrusion  of  sex  into  everything." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  the  Tenor  answered  idly.  "  When  I 
first  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you,  love  was  a  favourite  topic 
of  yours." 

"Ah  .'  at  that  time,  yes,"  said  the  Boy.  "  You  see  I  was  merely 
pandering  then  to  what  I  supposed  to  be  your  taste,  in  order  to 
ingratiate  myself  with  you  ;  but  you  may  have  noticed  that 
since  I  knew  you  better  I  have  allowed  the  subject  to  drop — 
except,  of  course,  when  I  wanted  to  draw  you." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  Tenor  upon  reflection.  "  And  yet 
you  are  the  most  sensuous  little  brute  I  know." 

"  Sensuous,  yes ;  not  sensual,"  said  the  Boy.  "I  take  my 
pleasures  daintily,  and  this  scene  satisfies  me  heart  and  soul  ; 
balmy  air  ;  moonlight  with  its  myriad  associations  ;  a  mur 
murous  multitude  of  sounds  like  sighs,  all  soothing  ;  the  silent 
drift  and  gentle  rocking  of  the  boat  ;  and  the  calm  human 
fellowship,  the  brotherly  love  undisturbed  by  a  single  violent 
emotion,  which  is  the  perfection  of  social  intercourse  to  me.  I 
say  the  scene  is  hallowed,  and  I'll  have  no  sex  in  my  paradise."  • 
The  last  words  were  uttered  irritably,  and  he  sat  up  as  he 
spoke,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  frowned  at  the 
silvery  surface  of  the  river.  "  Love  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Rot ! 
It  is  not  love  they  mean.  But  don't  let  us  desecrate  a  night 
like  this  with  any  idea  that  lowers  us  to  the  level  of  a  beastly 
French  novel  reeking  with  sensuality." 

"  Amen,  with  all  my  heart,"  said  the  Tenor  lazily.  "  But 
don't  introduce  the  disturbing  element  of  violence  either,  dear 
Boy.  Your  sentiments  may  be  refined,  but  the  same  cannot  be 
said  for  the  expressions  in  which  you  clothe  them.  In  fact,  to 


424  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

describe  the  latter,  I  don't  think  coarse  would  be  too  strong  a 
word." 

"  No,  not  coarse,"  said  the  Boy,  with  his  uncanny  grin. 
"  Vigorous,  you  mean,  dear.  But  now  shut  up.  I  want  to 
think." 

"  You  don't.     You  want  to  feel,"  said  the  Tenor. 

The  Boy  threw  his  cap  at  him. 

Then  they  resettled  themselves,  lolling  luxuriously,  the  one 
in  the  bows,  the  other  in  the  stern  ;  and  the  Tenor's  soul  was 
uplifted,  as  was  the  case  with  him  in  every  pause  of  life,  to 
the  heaven  of  heavens  which  only  could  contain  it ;  while  the 
Boy's  roamed  away  to  realms  of  poesy  where  it  revelled  amid 
blossoming  rhymes,  or  rested  satisfied  on  full  blown  verses, 
some  of  which  he  presently  began  to  chant  to  himself  monot 
onously. 

"  I  like  that,"  he  broke  off  at  last.  "  There  is  quite  an  idea 
in  it — well  worked  out  too  ;  don't  you  think  so  ? " 

"  What  is  the  thing  ?  "  the  Tenor  asked.     "  Who  wrote  it  ?  " 

"  I  wrote  it  myself,"  said  the  Boy. 

The  Tenor  roused  himself,  and  got  out  the  oars,  but  sat 
resting  on  them  with  a  far-away  look  in  his  dreamy  eyes. 
He  was  bareheaded,  and  the  moon  played  on  his  yellow 
hair,  making  it  shine  ;  a  detail  which  did  not  escape  the  Boy, 
whose  pleasure  in  the  Tenor's  beauty  never  tired. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  a  poet  as  well  as  a  musician," 
the  latter  said  at  last. 

"Ah  !  you  have  much  to  learn,"  the  Boy  answered  com 
placently,  then  added — "  I  am  extremely  versatile." 

"Jack  of  all  trades," said  the  Tenor. 

"  Now,  don't  be  coarse,"  said  the  Boy. 

"  Well,  I  hope  that  is  not  the  best  specimen  of  your  powers 
in  that  line,"  the  Tenor  drily  pursued. 

"  By  no  means,"  was  the  candid  rejoinder  ;  "  but  the  most 
appropriate,  seeing  that  I  just  made  it  for  the  occasion,  which 
is  not  a  great  occasion,  don't  you  know." 

"  I've  heard  something  very  like  it  before,"  said  the  Tenor. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Boy,  with  a  gratified  smile,  "  that  is  the 
beauty  of  it.  There  is  no  new-fangled  nonsense  about  me. 
My  verses  always  tremble  with  agreeable  reminiscences.  They 
set  the  sensitive  sympathetic  chords  of  memory  vibrating 
pleasurably.  You  can  hardly  read  anything  I  write  without 
being  reminded  of  some  one  or  other  of  your  best  friends  in 
the  language.  I  have  written  some  verses  which  I  can  assure 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  425 

you  were  a  triumph  of  this  art."  He  made  an  artistic  pause 
here,  shook  his  head,  and  then  ejaculated  solemnly:  "But, 
Lord  !  how  I  did  rage  when  the  fact  was  first  pointed  out  to 
me!" 

The  Tenor  got  the  boat  round,  and,  with  an  occasional  dip 
of  the  oars  to  keep  it  in  mid-stream,  allowed  it  to  drift  slowly 
back  toward  Morningquest. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  precocious,  Boy,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Don't  be  so  if  you  can  help  it.  The  thing  is  detestable." 

"  I  really  think  I  shall  be  obliged  to  avoid  you,  Israfil,"  the 
Boy  rejoined.  "If  I  let  you  be  intimate,  you  will  be  giving 
me  good  advice.  Look  there  !  " 

The  Tenor  turned  hastily.  But  there  was  nothing  wrong. 
It  was  only  that  they  had  reached  a  point  from  which  they 
could  obtain  a  view  that  pleased  the  Boy's  excitable  fancy  ;  a 
bend  of  the  river,  a  glimpse  of  upland  meadows,  woods  with  the 
cathedral  spire  above  them,  and  the  square  outline  of  the 
castle  overhanging  the  city  from  its  dominant  site  on  the  hill, 
and  seeming  to  guard  it  as  it  slept. 

The  Tenor  looked  a  little,  then  dipped  his  oars  and  rowed  a 
stroke  or  two.  The  Boy's  mood  had  changed.  He  was  keenly 
susceptible  to  the  refining  influences  of  beautiful  scenes.  His 
countenance  cleared  and  softened  as  he  gazed,  and  the  Tenor 
knew  that  he  would  jeer  no  more  that  night. 

Presently  they  heard  the  city  clocks  striking  the  hour.  Both 
listened,  waiting  for  the  chime.  The  Tenor  rested  on  his  oars, 
and  after  it  had  sounded,  muffled  by  distance,  but  quite 
distinct,  he  still  sat  so,  gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  water. 

"  Boy,  shall  I  tell  you  something  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

The  Boy  gravely  responded  with  a  nod. 

"  It  was  not  far  from  where  we  are  now,"  the  Tenor  con 
tinued,  "  that  I  first  heard  the  chime — oh,  ever  so  many  years 
ago  !  "  and  he  brushed  his  hand  back  over  his  hair. 

"  You  were  a  boy  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  lad  like  you — perhaps  younger.  I  had  been  work 
ing  in  a  colliery.  The  work  was  too  hard  for  me,  and  I  was 
coming  up  the  Morne  on  a  barge,  to  try  and  get  something 
lighter  to  do  in  one  of  the  towns.  We  came  up  very  slowly, 
and  it  was  a  hot  day,  and  I  idled  about  for  hours,  looking  at 
the  water  over  the  side,  and  at  the  banks  of  the  river  as  we 
passed,  but  without  thinking  of  anything.  What  I  saw  made 
me  feel.  I  was  conscious  of  various  sensations — pleasure, 
wonder,  amusement,  and,  above  all,  of  a  dreamful  ease  ;  but  I 


426  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

could  not  translate  sensations  into  words  at  that  time  ;  they 
suggested  no  ideas.  There  had  been  nothing  in  my  life  so  far 
to  rouse  my  mental  faculties,  and  I  was  conscious  without 
being  intelligent,  as  I  suppose  the  beasts  of  the  field  are.  I 
must  have  been  happy  then,  but  I  did  not  know  it.  As  we 
approached  Morningquest  I  heard  the  chime.  It  was  very 
faint  at  first,  for  we  were  still  a  long  way  off;  but  the  next  time  it 
sounded  we  were  nearer  ;  and  the  next  it  was  quite  distinct. 
And  it  seemed  to  me  to  mean  something,  so  I  asked  the  old 
bargee  who  was  steering,  and  he  told  me.  I  could  neither  read 
nor  write  at  that  time,  and  I  had  never  heard  of  Christ,  but  I 
loved  music,  and  the  idea  of  a  great  beneficent  being  who 
slumbered  not  nor  slept,  but  watched  over  us  all  forever,  took 
possession  of  my  imagination,  and  I  caught  up  the  notes  and 
words  and  sang  them  with  all  my  heart.  And  when  we  got  to 
the  outskirts  of  the  city,  a  gentleman  who  had  been  sitting  on 
the  towing-path,  sketching  the  old  houses  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river,  heard  me,  and  hailed  the  barge,  and  came  on 
board.  *  Which  is  your  sweet  singer  ?  '  he  asked,  and  the  old 
fellow  who  was  steering  nodded  toward  me,  and  answered  : 
4  The  lad  there.'  And  the  gentleman  said  if  I  would  go  away 
with  him  he  would  have  me  taught  music  and  make  a  great 
singer  of  me." 

"  And  you  went  ?" 

"  Yes/'  said  the  Tenor,  with  his  habitual  gesture. 

"  The  gentleman  was  a  bachelor,"  he  resumed,  "  with  few 
near  relations.  He  was  very  rich,  very  liberal,  and  passion 
ately  fond  of  art  in  all  its  branches.  That  was  why  he  took 
me  at  first,  but  by  and  by  he  began  to  like  me  for  myself.  He 
had  me  educated  as  his  own  son  might  have  been,  and  I  loved 
him  as  if  he  had  been  my  father.  Oh,  Boy,  he  was  a  good 
man  !  You  never  would  have  scoffed  at  religion  and  truth 
had  you  been  brought  up  by  him.  I  rested  on  his  affection  as 
securely  as  you  rely  on  the  obligation  of  your  nearest  of  kin. 
I  knew  that,  even  if  I  had  lost  my  voice  or  otherwise  dis 
appointed  him,  it  would  have  made  no  difference.  Once  my 
friend  he  would  always  have  been  my  friend.  But  I  did  not 
lose  my  voice,  nor  did  I  otherwise  disappoint  him,  I  trust." 
The  Tenor  paused  a  moment.  "  He  was  always  sure  that  I 
was  gentle  by  birth,"  he  resumed,  "  and  all  my  tutors  said  I 
must  have  come  of  an  educated  race  because  I  was  so  teach- 
able.  Everything  in  the  new  life  came  to  me  naturally.  I 
never  had  any  trouble.  My  friend  tried  hard  to  find  my  par- 


THE.  HE  A  VENL  \    T  WINS.  4  2  7 

cnts,  but  all  that  was  known  of  me  in  the  place  I  came  from 
was  that  a  collier,  who  lived  alone  in  a  little  cottage,  went  home 
late  one  night  and  found  me  asleep  on  his  bed.  They  thought 
I  was  only  a  few  days  old  then,  and  had  kept  my  clothes, 
which  were  such  as  a  gentleman's  child  would  have  worn,  but 
there  was  no  mark  on  any  of  them,  nor  any  clue  by  which  I 
could  be  identified,  except  the  name,  David  Julian  Vane- 
temple,  scrawled  on  a  scrap  of  paper  in  a  woman's  hand,  an 
educated  hand.  The  collier  brought  me  up  somehow,  though 
Heaven  alone  knows  how,  considering  my  age  and  his  own 
occupation.  Do  you  know,  Boy,  one  of  the  most  weary 
things  in  life  is  the  sense  of  an  obligation  you  can  never  repay, 
If  I  could  only  have  done  something  to  prove  my  gratitude  to 
my  first  foster  father  !  But  there  !  I  must  not  think  of  it.  It 
is  better  to  hope  that  all  he  did  for  me  was  a  pleasure  to  him 
self  at  the  time,  though  there  must  have  been  much  more 
trouble  than  pleasure  at  first.  But  he  was  very  kind,  and  I 
was  very  happy  with  him."  Here  the  Tenor  paused  again  for 
a  while,  and  then  resumed.  "  When  I  was  old  enough  he 
took  me  down  to  the  pit  occasionally,  but  he  would  not  let  me 
work  until  I  was  much  past  the  age  at  which  the  other  boys 
began.  He  said  I  was  not  one  of  them  ;  my  build  was  differ 
ent,  and  I  was  quite  unfit  for  such  rough  labour  ;  and  so  it 
proved,  but  I  persevered  as  long  as  he  lived.  It  was  not 
very  long,  however,  for  he  was  killed  one  day  by  an  explosion 
of  gas  down  in  the  mine  while  trying  to  rescue  some  other 
poor  fellows  who  had  been  blocked  up  in  a  gallery  for  days 
by  a  fall.  His  dog  was  killed  at  the  same  time.  He  liked  to 
have  his  family  with  him,  he  said,  and  we  were  generally  both 
beside  him  when  he  was  at  work.  But  he  sent  me  off  on  an 
impossible  errand  to  a  neighbouring  town  that  day.  I  did  not 
suspect  it  at  the  time,  but  I  know  now  that  it  was  to  keep  me 
out  of  harm's  way.  And  so  I  was  left  quite  alone  in  the 
world,  and  I  thought  the  place  where  I  had  had  a  friend  was 
more  desolate  than  strange  places  with  which  I  had  no  such 
tender  associations  would  be  ;  and  so  I  wandered  away,  and 
wandered  about  until  I  was  found  by  my  next  friend  on  the 
barge,  and  the  new  life  began  for  me." 

"  Then  he  never  found  out  who  you  were  ? "  the  Boy 
exclaimed. 

"  No,  never/' 

"  And  why  did  you  leave  him  ?  " 

The  Tenor  shipped  his  oars.     "  He  had  a  place  in  Scotland 


428  THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S. 

to  which  we  went  every  autumn  for  shooting,"  he  began  to 
answer  indirectly,  and  then  stopped. 

The  Boy  was  leaning  forward,  with  his  eyes  riveted  on  the 
Tenor's  face  ;  his  delicate  features  were  pale  and  drawn  with 
excitement  and  interest ;  his  lips  were  parted  ;  he  scarcely 
seemed  to  breathe.  There  was  a  long  pause.  The  moonlight 
still  streamed  down  upon  them.  The  water  lapped  against  the 
sides  of  the  boat,  and  sparkled  and  rippled  all  around  them,  its 
murmurs  mingling  with  the  rustle  of  leaves,  the  sighing  of 
\  sleeping  cattle,  the  manifold  "  inarticulate  voices  of  the  night," 
above  which  a  nightingale  in  a  copse  hard  by  sang  out  at 
intervals  divinely. 

"My  friend  was  not  conventional  in  anything,"  the  Tenor 
began  again  at  last.  "  When  he  went  out  shooting,  for  instance, 
he  liked  to  find  his  own  game  as  he  would  have  had  to  do  in 
the  wilds.  Ail  the  sport  of  the  thing  lay  in  that,  he  said  ;  it 
_w  was  just  the  difference  between  nature  and  artifice.  We  were 
therefore  in  the  habit  of  going  out  alone — that  is  to  say,  with 
a  keeper  or  two  and  the  dogs,  but  never  with  a  party."  Here 
again  the  Tenor  paused,  and  all  the  minor  murmurs  of  the 
water  and  from  the  land  sounded  aggressively,  with  that  sort  of 
sound  which  fills  the  ears  but  seems  nevertheless  to  emphasize 
the  silence  and  solitude  at  night. 

The  Boy  moved  restlessly  once  or  twice,  making  the  little 
boat  rock,  and  the  Tenor,  yielding  to  the  eager  expectancy  he 
saw  in  his  eyes,  resumed  his  story. 

"  Toward  the  end  of  the  season  of  which  I  have  been  speak 
ing,*'  he  said,  "we  had  arranged  an  expedition  for  one  particu 
lar  morning  ;  but  just  as  we  were  about  to  start  my  friend  got 
a  telegram  from  a  man  he  knew,  begging  him  as  a  favour  to  be 
at  home  that  day  to  receive  a  yachting  party  who  were  anxious 
to  come  up  and  see  the  place,  and  had  only  a  few  hours  to  do 
it  in.  I  wanted  to  stay  and  help  him  to  entertain  them,  but  he 
would  not  hear  of  it.  My  day's  shooting  was  of  more  conse 
quence  to  him  than  the  entertainment  of  many  guests,  and  he 
made  me  go  alone.  But  I  went  reluctantly.  I  had  been  out 
alone  often  enough  before,  and  had  enjoyed  it  thoroughly,  but 
that  day,  somehow,  I  hated  to  leave  him,  and  only  went  to 
please  him,  he  made  such  a  point  of  it.  Once  fairly  started, 
however,  I  began,  as  was  natural,  to  enjoy  the  tramp  over  the 
moors.  We  intended  to  send  back  for  any  game  we  might 
shoot,  so  only  one  old  gillie  accompanied  me.  I  carried  out 
the  plans  we  had  made  the  night  before,  going  the  way  we  had 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS,  429 

intended  to  go.  It  was  deer  I  was  after,  and  as  luck  would 
have  it  I  had  some  splendid  sport,  and  had  begun  to  enter  into 
it  thoroughly  before  we  halted  to  refresh  ourselves  at  noon. 
After  a  long  rest  we  set  off  again  up  a  wooded  glen.  The 
keeper  had  noticed  a  herd  of  deer  only  the  day  before  feeding 
at  the  other  side,  and  it  seemed  more  than  probable  that  we 
should  get  a  shot  when  we  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill,  or  we 
might  perhaps  meet  some  of  them  coming  down  the  glen  to 
drink.  The  afternoon  was  waning  then,  and  we  had  turned 
our  faces  homeward.  When  we  got  to  the  head  of  the  glen 
the  luck  seemed  still  to  be  favouring  us,  for  there,  on  our 
right,  was  a  splendid  fellow  lording  it  alone  on  the  very  crest 
of  the  hill  within  range.  I  did  not  stop  to  consider,  but  raised 
my  gun  to  my  shoulder  and  fired  instantly.  But  just  as  I  pulled 
the  trigger,  someone  sprang  up  from  the  heather  between  me 
and  the  stag — sprang  up,  uttered  a  cry,  and  reeled  and  fell  " — 
the  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  gasp,  and  the  Tenor  stopped 
for  an  instant,  and  then  continued  in  a  hoarse  broken  whisper 
to  which  his  companion  had  to  listen  intently,  leaning  forward 
to  do  so,  with  his  great  eyes  dilated,  and  his  pale  lips  quiver 
ing.  "'Lord,  sir,'  the  gillie  exclaimed,  'you've  shot  the 
master ! ' " 

"  And  you  had  ?  " 

"I  had.     Yes,  I  had  shot  him,"  the  Tenor  repeated. 

"  O  Israfil  !  "  cried  the  Boy,  flinging  himself  down  impetu 
ously  before  him,  and  grasping  his  hands. 

"  When  his  guests  had  gone,"  the  latter  continued  in  a  broken 
voice,  "he  strolled  out  to  meet  me.  He  had  not  said  anything 
about  coming,  but  he  knew  I  meant  to  return  by  that  glen.  He 
did  not,  however,  know  on  which  side  I  should  be,  and  he  had 
therefore  taken  up  his  position  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  from 
whence  he  could  see  every  point  at  which  I  was  likely  to  appear. 
Probably  he  never  saw  the  stag — it  was  behind  him  ;  and  we — 
the  gillie  and  I — neither  of  us  saw  anything  else.  And,  indeed, 
had  there  been  no  game,  we  could  hardly  have  distinguished 
him  at  that  time  of  the  day  from  the  hillside  till  he  moved,  for 
the  suit  he  wore  was  just  the  colour  of  the  rocks  and  heather. 
We  carried  him  home — but  he  was  dead — dead — quite 
dead,"  and  the  Tenor  moaned,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"  I  remember  now,"  the  Boy  said  softly.  "  I  heard  all  about 
it  at  the  time,  and  read  the  case  in  the  papers,  but  I  never 
thought  of  associating  it  with  you.  Yet — how  could  I  have 


*3°  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

been  so  dull  ?     There  was  an  inquest,  and  they  tried "  he 

hesitated. 

"They  tried  to  make  out  that  I  had  some  motive — something 
to  gain  by  his  death,"  the  Tenor  went  on  ;  "but  everyone,  and 
most  of  all  his  nearest  of  kin,  his  heir,  came  forward  to  exoner 
ate  me.  He  had  provided  for  me  in  his  will  by  settling  the 
allowance  he  always  made  me  on  me  and  my  heirs  forever. 
But  he  always  said  that  my  voice  was  my  fortune,  and  he  had 
no  need  to  make  enemies  for  me  by  giving  me  that  which 
belonged  by  right  to  others.  He  was  a  just  man,  singularly 
open  in  all  his  dealings,  and  it  was  not  hard  to  clear  me,  but 
still — oh  !  " — he  broke  off — "  it  was  awful !  awful !  " 

"And  afterward  ?  "  the  Boy  ventured  to  ask. 

"Afterward,"  the  Tenor  repeated  slowly.  "Afterward — 
for  some  months — I  wandered  about.  They  were  all  very  kind. 
They  wanted  me  to  stay  with  them — they  wanted  to  take  me 
abroad — they  would  have  done  anything  to  help  and  comfort 
me.  But  all  I  cared  for  was  to  be  alone.  At  first  there  was  a 
blank — the  faces  about  me  had  no  meaning  for  me — the  people 
when  they  spoke  could  scarcely  make  me  understand.  I  was 
mad  in  a  way,  but  not  mad  enough  to  be  insensible  to  sorrow. 
I  felt  the  fearful  calamity  that  had  fallen  upon  me,  but  nothing 
else.  I  told  myself  every  hour  of  the  day  that  he  was  dead — 
dead  ;  cruelly  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  his  happy  life  by  me 
whom  he  loved — I  could  not  have  suffered  more  had  I  been 
guilty,"  the  Tenor  broke  off.  "  This  lasted — I  hardly  know 
how  long ;  but  eventually  I  began  to  fancy  that  he  saw  my 
agony  of  grief,  and  that  it  was  a  torment  to  him  not  to  be  able 
to  come  and  comfort  me.  Then  one  day — I  was  in  Cornwall 
at  the  time — sitting  on  the  sea  shore — and  all  at  once — it  was 
the  strangest  thing  in  life — I  heard  the  chime  !  I  had  not  been 
thinking  of  it.  I  doubt  if  I  had  thought  of  it  a  dozen  times 
since  I  heard  it  first.  But  it  sounded  for  me  then  : 


Be,  watch-ing o-  ver        Is  -  ra  •  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 


I  heard  it  quite  distinctly,  and  I  got  up  and  looked  about  me. 
It  was  the  first  thing  outside  myself  that  had  arrested  my  atten 
tion  since  I  had  seen  him  drop  on  the  moor.  I  went  back  to 
the  inn  I  was  staying  at,  and  asked  about  it ;  but  I  could 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  43 l 

scarcely  make  them  understand  what  I  meant,  and  there  was 
certainly  no  such  chime  in  that  neighbourhood.  Then  I  felt 
it  was  a  message  sent  specially  to  me,  and  I  made  my  man 
pack  up  my  things,  and  then  I  dismissed  him,  and  started  at 
once  for  Morningquest  alone.  It  was  a  long  journey,  and 
although  I  travelled  with  all  possible  speed,  I  did  not  arrive 
until  nearly  forty-eight  hours  later.  It  was  close  on  midnight 
then,  and  the  first  thing  I  heard,  when  I  found  myself  alone  in 
my  room  at  the  hotel,  was  the  chime  itself.  Have  you  ever 
noticed— or  is  it  only  my  fancy  ? — that  it  seems  to  strike  louder 
at  midnight,  and  with  greater  intensity  of  expression,  as  we 
ourselves  strike  final  chords  ?  It  sounded  so  to  me  then,  and 
suggested  something — I  can't  tell  what,  I  can't  define  it ;  but 
something  that  changed  the  current  of  my  thoughts,  and  made 
me  feel  I  had  done  right  to  come.  And  from  that  moment  my 
grief  was  less  self-centred,  and  the  blessed  power  to  feel  for 
others  began  to  return  to  me.  Almost  immediately  after  my 
arrival,  I  heard  of  the  tragedy  in  the  cathedral,  the  suicide  of 
the  tenor,  and  the  trouble  the  dean  and  chapter  were  having 
to  find  a  substitute  ;  and  when  I  had  seen  the  quiet  shady 
Close,  and  the  beautiful  old  cathedral,  and  my  little  house  with 
its  high-walled  garden  at  the  back,  standing,  as  it  were,  on  holy 
ground,  I  longed  to  take  up  my  abode  there,  where  no  one 
would  know  my  story  but  those  to  whom  the  secret  would  be 
sacred,  and  no  one  would  intrude  upon  my  grief.  So  I  applied 
for  the  tenor's  place,  and  I  knew  as  soon  as  I  had  taken  the 
step  that  it  was  a  wise  one.  I  thought,  if  anything  could  restore 
the  balance  of  my  mind,  it  would  be  the  regular  employment, 
the  quiet  monotony,  the  something  to  do  that  I  must  do,  the 
duty  and  obligation,  which  were  just  sufficient  without  being 
any  tax  on  my  powers  to  take  me  out  of  myself.  And  the  being 
able  to  shut  myself  up  from  the  world  in  the  Close,  as  I  said 
before,  was  another  inducement,  though  by  far  the  greatest 
were  the  daily  services  in  the  cathedral ;  while  taking  part  in 
them  I  always  feel  that  I  am  nearer  him.  When  I  applied  for 
the  place,  and  the  dean  heard  who  I  was — of  course,  he  knew 
the  story  ;  the  whole  world  knew  it  at  that  time — and  heard 
how  I  yearned  for  a  life  of  devotion,  he  sympathized  with  me 
entirely,  gladly  acceded  to  my  request,  and  agreed  to  keep  my 
secret.  He  has  told  me  since  that  he  always  hoped  and 
believed  the  quiet  regular  life  would  restore  me,  and  when  it 
had  he  intended  to  urge  me  to  go  away,  and  make  the  most  of 
my  powers.  Dear,  kind  old  man  !  he  has  indeed  been  a  good 


43 2  THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

friend  to  me,  and  he  is  a  good  man  himself,  if  ever  there  were 
one.  But  I  seem  to  have  known  none  but  good  men,"  the  Tenor 
concluded  thoughtfully. 

"  But  your  money,  Israfil,"  the  Boy  said  impatiently  ;  "what 
did  you  do  with  that  ?  " 

The  question  provoked  the  ghost  of  a  smile.  "  Oh,  Boy  ! 
that  is  so  like  you  !  "  the  Tenor  answered.  "  But  since  you 
wish  to  know  I  will  tell  you.  My  income  has  all  been  disposed 
of  for  some  years  to  come.  It  was  a  great  deal  more  than  I 
snould  have  required  in  any  case,  and  a  lay  clerk  with  such 
means  would  have  been  an  anomaly  not  to  be  tolerated.  But 
he  meant  that  I  should  enjoy  it,  and  so  I  have.  I  have  held 
it  as  a  sacred  trust  left  to  me  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  are 
.  worse  off  than  myself.  I  keep  the  principal  in  my  own  hands, 
but  I  dispose  of  the  interest.  It  does  not  go  very  far,  alas  !  in 
my  profession,  where  want  is  the  rule,  but  it  enables  me  to  do 
something,  and  that,  till  I  knew  you,  Boy,  was  my  greatest 
pleasure  in  life.  I  have  earned  my  own  living  almost  ever  since 
I  came  to  Morningquest,  and  being  obliged  to  do  so  has  been 
a  very  good  thing  for  me." 

"And  all  these  pensioners — or  whatever  you  like  to  call 
them — of  yours,  do  they  know?  " 

"  As  a  rule  my  lawyers  manage  the  business  delicately,"  the 
Tenor  answered,  smiling.  He  dipped  his  oars  as  he  spoke,  and 
began  to  row  back  with  a  will. 

The  Boy,  shivering  as  if  with  cold,  gathered  up  the  tiller 
lines  and  steered  mechanically.  They  were  both  jsubdued,  and 
scarcely  spoke  till  the  boat  touched  the  landing  place  at  the 
water-gate,  and  then  the  Boy  begged  the  Tenor  to  get  out,  say 
ing  that  he  must  row  himself  home. 

The  Tenor  jumped  ashore,  and  then,  with  a  long  grip  of 
each  other's  hands,  and  a  long  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  they 
.  parted  in  silence. 

The  moon  had  set  by  this  time,  and  the  summer  dawn  was 
near. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

'"PHE  next  night  the  Boy  appeared  again  in  his  white  boat 
ing  suit,  with  his  sandy  hair  tumbled  more  than  usual. 
His  restless  eyes  sparkled  and  glanced,  and  there  was  a  glow 
beneath  his  clear  skin  which  answered  in  his  to  a  heightened 
colour  in  other  complexions.  He  was  evidently  excited  about 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  433 

something,  and  the  Tenor  thought  he  had  never  seen  him 
look  so  well.  What  his  mood  was  did  not  become  immedi 
ately  apparent.  The  Tenor  had  learnt  that  the  sparkle  in  his 
eyes  either  meant  some  mischievous  design,  or  a  strong  de 
sire  to  "  make  music."  But  this  evening  he  was  long  in  com 
ing  to  the  point.  He  began  by  pelting  the  Tenor  with  roses 
through  the  window,  and  then  he  entered  and  danced  an  im 
promptu  breakdown  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ;  but  these  pre 
liminaries  might  have  been  an  introduction  to  anything,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  his  programme  were  not  complete,  for  he  next 
subsided  into  his  accustomed  seat  on  the  sofa  up  against  the 
wall  opposite  the  fireplace,  and  remained  there,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  looking  at  the  Tenor  thoughtfully  for  at  least 
ten  minutes. 

The  Tenor  was  also  in  his  accustomed  seat  beside  the  hearth 
— or  rather  beside  the  stand  of  growing  flowers  and  ferns  that 
hid  the  hearth,  with  a  book  on  his  knee.  He  was  sitting  there 
when  the  first  rose  whizzed  in  out  of  the  silence  and  solitude 
of  night  without  warning  upon  him,  announcing  the  arrival  of 
the  Boy.  It  startled  him  somewhat,  but  he  did  not  wince  from 
the  shower  that  followed,  nor  did  he  move  when  the  Boy 
chose  to  show  himself,  but  merely  smiled  and  closed  his  book 
and  then  sat  watching  the  next  part  of  the  proceedings  with 
the  gravity  of  an  eastern  potentate.  He  sat  so  now,  looking 
up  at  the  great  cathedral,  seen  dimly  through  the  open  window, 
towering  above  them,  his  profile  turned  to  the  Boy,  and  the 
roses  all  about  him — on  the  floor,  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  one 
on  his  shoulder,  another  on  his  book,  and  one  he  held  in  his 
hand.  There  were  dozens  of  them  of  every  hue,  from  that 
deep  crimson  damask  which  is  almost  black,  to  the  purest 
white,  fresh  gathered  from  the  trees  apparently,  with  the  dew 
still  glistening  on  their  perfumed  petals  and  on  the  polished 
surface  of  the  leaves.  The  Tenor,  becoming  conscious  of  the 
Gloire  de  Dijon  he  held  in  his  hand,  looked  into  its  creamy 
depth  with  quiet  eyes.  The  beauty  of  the  flower  was  a  pleas 
ure  to  him — though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  everything  was  a 
pleasure  to  him  now,  He  had  no  words  to  tell  it,  but  his  face 
was  irradiated  by  the  gladness  of  the  hope  which  he  cherished, 
from  morning  till  night. 

The  Boy  had  been  watching  him  admiringly.  "You  will 
be  one  of  the  beauties  when  you  come  out,  dear  Israfil,"  he 
said.  "  They  will  photograph  you  and  put  you  into  the  shop 
windows,  cabinet  size  two-and-sixpence.  Sounds  rather  vul- 


434  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

gar,  though,  doesn't  it  ?  Savours  of  desecration,  to  my  mind. 
But,  Israfil,  you  will  certainly  be  the  rage.  One  so  seldom 
sees  a  good-looking  man  !  Good-looking  women  are  common 
enough  and  they  make  themselves  still  commoner  nowadays," 
—which  remark  coming  from  such  a  quarter  amused  the 
Tenor,  whereupon  the  Boy  became  irate.  u  Oh,  jeer  away  ! " 
he  exclaimed  ;  "  but  when  you  know  Angelica  as  well  as  I  do 
you  will  respect  my  knowledge  of  the  subject." 

But  here  the  Tenor  threw  back  his  head,  and  groaned  aloud. 

"  Boy,  I  protest !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  can  endure  yourgar- 
rulousness,  but  I  do  bar  your  cynicism.  If  you  can't  be 
agreeable,  be  still.  You're  in  a  horrid  bad  temper" — and  so 
saying  the  Tenor  rose  in  his  languid  way,  got  a  little  table 
which  he  placed  beside  his  chair,  spread  out  his  pipes  upon  it, 
and  began  to  clean  them  with  crows'  quills,  the  Boy  watching 
the  operation  the  while  with  cheerful  intentness. 

"  Pipes  and  tobacco  and  roses  !  "  he  said  at  last.  "  What  a 
mixture  it  sounds  !  But  it  doesn't  look  bad,  dear  Israfil,"  he 
added  encouragingly. 

The  Tenor  made  no  remark  ;  his  pipes  seemed  to  be  all  en 
grossing.  He  had  just  filled  the  bowl  of  one  with  a  number 
of  fuseeheads,  cut  off  short,  and  now  he  popped  in  a  light  and 
corked  them  up.  There  was  a  tiny  explosion  on  the  instant, 
followed  by  a  rush  of  smoke  through  the  shank  of  the  pipe, 
which  swept  it  clean,  and  added  musk  and  gunpowder  to  the 
already  heavy  odour  of  roses  that  filled  the  room. 

The  Boy,  still  lolling  on  the  sofa  observing  the  Tenor's  pro 
ceedings  with  interest,  drew  up  one  leg,  clasping  his  hands 
round  it  below  the  knee,  and  began  to  sing  to  himself  in  a 
monotonous  undertone  as  was  his  wont. 

"  By-the-bye,"  the  Tenor  said,  like  one  who  suddenly  re 
members,  "  I  found  some  verses  after  you  were  here  the  other 
night  " — and  he  straightened  himself  to  feel  in  his  pockets — 
"  I  suppose  you  dropped  them.  Here  they  are."  And  then 
he  leant  back  in  his  chair  again  and  read  aloud  : 

*'  When  the  winter  storms  were  howling  o'er  the  ocean, 

Leafless  trees  and  sombre  landscape  cold  and  drear, 
Bitter  winds,  and  driving  rains,  or  white  commotion 

Of  the  whirling  snow  that  drifted  far  and  near  ; 
Then  my  heart,  which  had  been  strong,  was  bowed  and  broken, 

I  was  crushed  with  sudden  sense  of  loss  and  fear, 
Dull  as  silence  passed  the  days  and  brought  no  token 

Of  a  light  to  make  the  darkness  disappear. 


'THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  435 

Would  the  grief  that  wrecked  my  life  forever  hold  me  ? 

Soon  or  later  winter  storms  their  ravage  cease — 
With  the  coming  of  the  green  leaves,  something  told  me, 

With  the  coming  of  the  green  leaves  there  is  peace. 

When  the  bursting  buds  proclaim'd  the  spring  time  nearing, 

Song  of  birds  and  scent  of  flowers  everywhere, 
Drowsy  drone  of  distant  workers,  and  the  cheering 

Hum  of  honey-seeking  bees  in  all  the  air  ; 
Then  my  sorrow  took  swift  wings  and  rose  and  left  me ; 

And  I  knew  no  more  the  aching  of  despair  ; 
Came  again  to  me  the  joy  that  seemed  bereft  me, 

And  for  hope  I  changed  the  dreary  weight  of  care. 
With  the  winter  tempests  pass'd  the  storms  of  feeling, 

Soon  and  surely  did  their  power  to  pain  me  cease, 
And  the  sunshine-lighted  summer  rose  revealing 

With  the  coming  of  the  green  leaves  there  is  peace." 

The  Tenor  looked  at  the  Boy  when  he  had  finished,  shook 
his  head  mournfully,  struck  a  match,  set  fire  to  the  paper  upon 
which  the  verses  were  written,  and  watched  it  burn  with  the 
air  of  a  disappointed  man. 

"Don't  make  any  more  rhymes,  Boy,"  he  said;  "don't 
write  any  more,  at  least,  until  you  get  out  of  the  sickly  senti 
mental  stage.  I  thought  I  was  prepared  for  the  worst,  but  I 
really  never  imagined  anything  quite  so  bad  as  that." 

The  Boy,  although  he  had  listened  to  the  lines  with  a  fine 
affectation  of  enjoyment,  was  in  no  way  discomposed  by  the 
Tenor's  adverse  criticism  ;  he  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  to 
enjoy  that  too,  for  he  chuckled  and  hugged  himself  ecstatically 
before  he  replied. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  he  said,  with  his  uncanny  grin, 
"  how  you  found  out  those  lines  were  mine,  for  I  certainly 
never  told  you  that  I  wrote  them." 

The  Tenor's  mind  misgave  him. 

"  Didn't  you  ?"  he  said,  looking  at  the  ashes. 

The  Boy  threw  himself  back  on  the  sofa. 

"  They  were  Angelica's  !  "  he  said,  with  a  shout  of  laughter. 
"  And  now  you  look  as  if  you  would  like  to  have  them  back 
again.  It  will  take  you  months  to  get  over  that  !  " 

The  Tenor  was  certainly  disconcerted,  but  he  merely  re 
sumed  his  pipe,  folded  his  bands,  and  looked  up  at  the  cathe 
dral,.  He  had  been  blessed  all  his  life  with  the  precious  gift  of 
silence.  Outside  the  night  was  very  still.  There  was  a  fitful 
little  breeze  which  rustled  the  leaves,  and  made  the  creepers 
tap  on  the  window  panes,  but,  beyond  this,  there  was  no  sound, 


436  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

no  sign  of  life  or  movement,  nothing  to  remind  them  of  the 
"  whole  cityful  "  so  close  at  hand. 

The  Tenor  lay  back  in  his  chair,  looking  somewhat  dispirited. 
The  Boy  got  up  and  began  to  wander  about  the  room  ;  a  long 
pause  followed  which  was  broken  by  the  chime. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  say  something  all  the  evening,  and 
now  that  beastly  chime  has  gone  and  made  it  impossible,"  the 
Boy  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he  could  hear  himself  speak.  "  I 
hate  it.  I  loathe  it.  It  is  cruel  as  eternal  damnation.  It  is 
condemnation  without  appeal.  It  is  a  judgment  which  acknowl 
edges  none  of  the  excuses  we  make  for  ourselves.  I  wish  they 
would  change  it.  I  wish  they  would  make  it  say  <  Lord,  have 
mercy  ;  Christ,  have  mercy  upon  us.'  " 

The  Tenor  put  down  his  pipe,  rose  slowly,  and  went  up 
stairs.  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  in  flannels. 

"  You  want  exercise,  Boy,"  he  said.  "  You  must  come  out. 
It  is  a  lovely  night  for  the  river,  and  I  have  been  shut  up  in 
the  Close  all  day." 

The  Boy  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  exclaimed 
with  animation,  "  let  us  go,  and  I'll  bring  my  violin.  Where's 
my  hat  ? " 

"  You  came  without  one  to-night — or  perhaps  you  hung  it 
on  the  palings." 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  the  Boy  replied.  "  I  must  have  forgotten 
it  altogether.  But  it  doesn't  matter.  I'd  rather  be  without 
one.  I  always  take  it  off  when  I  can." 

"  So  I  have  seen,"  said  the  Tenor,  following  him  out. 

As  he  walked  through  the  Close,  still  a  little  behind  the 
Boy,  he  could  not  help  noticing,  by  no  means  for  the  first 
time,  but  more  particularly  than  usual,  what  a  graceful  creature 
the  latter  was.  His  slender  figure  showed  to  advantage  in  the 
light  flannels.  They  made  him  look  broader  and  more  manly 
while  leaving  room  for  the  free  play  of  limb  and  muscle.  He 
had  knotted  a  crimson  silk  scarf  round  his  neck,  sailor  fashion, 
and  twisted  a  voluminous  cummerbund  of  the  same  round  his 
waist,  carelessly,  so  that  one  heavily  fringed  end  of  it  came 
loose,  and  now  hung  down  to  his  knee,  swaying  with  his  body 
as  he  moved.  The  Tenor  remembered  that  his  socks  were 
also  of  crimson  silk,  a  detail  which  had  caught  his  eye  as  the 
Boy  lolled  on  the  sofa.  It  was  evident  that  the  costume  had 
cost  him  a  thought,  and,  if  somewhat  theatrical,  it  was  certainly 
picturesque,  and  entirely  characteristic.  In  one  respect  the 
Boy's  art  was  perfect :  although  he  was  quite  conscious  of  his 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  437 

good  looks,  he  never  had  the  air  of  being  so  ;  every  movement 
was  natural  and  spontaneous,  like  the  movements  of  a  wild 
creature,  and  as  agile.  He  seemed  to  rejoice  in  his  own 
strength,  to  delight  in  his  own  suppleness  ;  and  he  walked  on 
now  with  healthy  elastic  step,  his  violin  held  to  his  shoulder, 
his  clear  cut  cheek  leant  down  to  it  lovingly  ;  his  luxuriant 
light  hair  all  tumbled  and  tossed,  while  he  kept  time  to  an 
imaginary  tune  with  the  bow  in  his  right  hand,  now  flourishing- 
it  in  the  air,  and  now  drawing  it  across  the  instrument,  scarcely 
seeming  to  touch  the  strings,  yet  waking  low  JEolean  harplike 
murmurs,  or  deep  thrilling  tones,  or  bright  melodious  cadences  ; 
making  it  respond  to  his  touch  like  a  living  creature,  and  glanc 
ing  back  over  his  shoulder  at  the  Tenor  as  they  proceeded, 
with  a  joyous  face  as  if  sure  of  his  sympathy,  but  anxious  to 
see  if  he  had  it  all  the  same. 

"  I  feel  more  amiable  now,"  he  said,  between  cadence  and 
cadence.  "  Kindly  consider  that  I  have  cancelled  all  my  for 
mer  misstatements.  Cynicism  can't  exist  in  a  healthy  sen- 
sorium  with  sounds  like  these  " — and  he  executed  a  magnificent 
crescendo  passage  on  his  violin.  "  When  I  want  to  play  I  feel 
that  I  must  prepare  myself.  Making  music  is  a  religious  rite 
to  me,  which  can  only  be  performed  by  one  in  perfect  charity 
with  all  men." 

They  were  seated  in  the  boat  by  this  time,  the  Tenor  at  the 
oars. 

"  Row,  brothers,  row  ! " 

the  Boy  played — "  and  steer  yourself,"  he  said.  "  I  can  do 
nothing  but  accompany  you." 

And  then  he  began  in  earnest,  while  the  Tenor  made  the 
boat  fly  past  river  bank  and  towing-path,  and  house  and 
wharf  ;  past  bridge  and  tower  and  town — it  seemed  but  a 
flash,  and  they  were  out  in  the  open  country  !  flat  meadows 
on  the  left,  and  on  their  right  the  green  and  swelling  upland, 
dotted  with  slumbrous  cattle  and  sheep,  and  shadowy  with  the 
heavy  summer  foliage  of  old  trees.  The  Tenor  stopped  there, 
exhausted. 

"  There  is  madness  in  your  music,  Boy,"  he  said.  "  It  puts 
me  beside  myself." 

The  Boy  laughed. 

But  in  the  pause  that  followed  he  shivered  a  little,  and  laid 
aside  his  instrument.  It  was  not  such  a  very  fine  night  on 
the  river  as  it  had  appeared  to  be  in  the  Close.  The  moon 


43$  THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS. 

would  rise  later,  but  at  present  there  was  no  sign  of  her,  and 
the  sky,  though  cloudless,  was  not  clear,  the  colour  being  that 
misty  opaque  gray  which  hangs  low  at  the  horizon  on  summer 
nights  when  the  light  never  wholly  departs,  and  is  accompanied 
by  a  close  and  sultry  atmosphere,  surcharged  with  electricity, 
the  harbinger  of  storms.  It  was  so  that  night.  There  were  no 
stars  to  relieve  the  murky  heaviness,  nor  was  it  dark  ;  a  sort 
of  twilight  reigned,  as  comfortless  as  tepid  water,  and  there 
was  no  breeze  now  to  rustle  the  leaves  into  life.  All  seemed 
ghostly  still  save  for  the  muffled  rush  of  the  river,  and  the 
melancholy  howling  of  a  dog  at  some  farm  out  of  sight.  And 
even  the  river  was  not  its  usual  merry  self,  but  a  sullen  heavy 
body  that  slipped  by  stealthily,  making  haste  to  the  sea  as  if 
anxious  to  be  away  from  the  spot,  without  a  ripple  to  break 
its  level  surface,  and  without  the  musical  lop  and  gurgle  and 
murmur  with  which  it  danced  along  at  brighter  times.  In 
spite  of  the  heat — or  perhaps  because  of  it — the  air  was  full 
of  moisture,  and  while  the  Tenor  rested,  a  dead  white  mist 
began  to  appear  above  the  low-lying  meadows.  It  rose  thinly, 
a  mere  film  at  first,  which,  coming  suddenly,  would  have  made 
a  man  brush  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  mistaking  the  haze  for 
some  defect  of  vision  ;  but  gathering  and  gaining  body  rapidly, 
and  rising  a  certain  height  clear  from  the  ground,  then  seem 
ing  to  hover,  a  thick  cloud  poised  between  earth  and  sky,  not 
touching  either,  but  drawn  horizontally  over  the  fields  like  a 
pall  with  ragged  edges  through  which  the  trees  showed  in 
blurred  outline,  their  leaves  dripping  miserably  with  an  inter 
mittent  patter  of  uncertain  drops  as  the  moisture  collected 
upon  them  and  fell,  and  then  collected  again. 

The  fog  was  stationary  for  a  time,  and  did  not  extend  beyond 
the  meadows,  but  it  rose  at  intervals,  though  the  clearance 
was  only  momentary,  and  had  scarcely  become  perceptible 
before  reinforcements  of  dull  white  vapour,  tainted  with  miasma, 
rolled  up  from  the  marshy  ground,  bringing  dank  odours  of 
standing  water  and  weedy  vegetation,  half  decayed,  and 
gradually  encroaching  on  the  river,  the  smooth  surface  of 
which  glowed  with  a  greasy  gleam  beneath  it,  making  it  look 
like  a  river  of  oil. 

"  Let  us  go  back,"  said  the  Boy.  "  My  soul  is  sick  with 
apprehension,  and  the  damp  will  ruin  my  violin." 

"  I  thought  it  was  making  you  feel  as  if  something  were 
going  to  happen,"  the  Tenor  observed  as  he  got  the  boat 
round. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  439 

The  Boy  ruffled  his  flaxen  hair,  and  laughed  uneasily.  "  Get 
away  quick,"  he  said.  "  If  the  elements  do  sympathize  with 
man,  there'll  be  a  tragedy  here  before  morning." 

The  Tenor  pulled  on  steadily  and  in  silence  for  seme  dis 
tance.  But  once  out  of  sight  of  the  mist  and  the  meadows, 
the  Boy's  ever  varying  spirits  rose  again.  He  took  up  his 
violin,  and  drew  soft  sounds  from  it  which  seemed  to  float 
away  far  out  into  the  night. 

"  Sing  something,"  he  said  at  last,  playing  the  prelude  to 
the  most  love-sweet  song  ever  written. 

"I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee,"  the  Tenor  sang  like  one 
inspired. 

The  Boy  uttered  a  deep  sigh  when  he  had  finished  ;  hs  was 
speechless  with  pleasure. 

But  the  Tenor  went  on.  He  sang  of  the  sun  and  tk?  sea, 
gliding  from  one  strain  to  another,  and  unconsciously  keeping 
time  to  the  measure  as  he  rowed,  now  making  the  little  boat 
leap  forward  with  a  fine  impulse,  now  almost  resting  oo>  his 
oars  till  their  progress  through  the  water  was  scarcely  per 
ceptible,  and  now  stopping  altogether  while  he  lingered  on  a 
closing  cadence,  looking  up. 

People  who  chanced  to  wake,  as  the  windings  of  the  river 
brought  the  singer  past  their  homes  that  night,  sat  up  in  their 
beds  and  wondered.  The  music  made  them  think  of  old  tales 
of  weird  enchantment)  in  which  strains,  incomprehensibly 
sweet  and  thrilling  like  these,  coming  from  nobody  could  tell 
where,  had  played  a  part.  And  one  poor  creature,  who  had 
long  been  dying  in  lingering  pain,  thought  heaven  had  opened 
for  her,  and,  smiling,  passed  happily  away. 

It  would  have  been  no  great  stretch  of  the  imagination  to 
have  supposed  that  nature  did  sympathize  with  man  in  his 
moods  just  then,  for  gradually,  as  if  to  the  music,  the  murky 
clouds  had  parted  like  a  curtain  at  a  given  signal,  and  rolled 
away,  leaving  the  vault  of  night  high  and  bare  and  blue  above 
them,  with  here  and  there  a  diamond  star  or  two  sparsely 
sprinkled  from  horizon  to  zenith,  radiant  at  first,  but  presently 
paling  before  a  slender  shaft  of  light  that  shot  up  in  the  east, 
and  then,  opening  fan- like  was  quickly  followed  by  the  great 
golden  rim  of  the  moon  herself.  She  rose  from  behind  a  hill 
crested  with  fir  trees,  which  appeared  for  a  moment  as  if 
photographed  on  her  disc,  and  then,  mounting  rapidly,  hung 
suspended  in  a  clear  indigo  sky  above  the  quiet  woods,  the 
river  and  the  little  boat,  which  was  motionless  now — an  ideal 


440  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

moon  in  an  ideal  world  with  ideal  music  to  greet  her.  But 
the  Boy  dropped  the  violin  on  his  knee  and  forgot  to  play  as 
he  watched  this  beautiful  transformation  scene,  and  the 
Tenor's  song  sank  to  a  murmur  while  he  also  gazed  and 
waited,  dipping  his  oars  to  keep  the  boat  in  mid-stream 
mechanically.  Joy  and  sadness  are  near  akin  in  music  ;  they 
are  like  pleasure  and  happiness,  the  one  is  the  surface  of  feel 
ing,  the  other  its  depth  ;  and  there  is  solemnity  in  every 
phase  of  absolute  beauty  which  cannot  fail  to  influence  such 
natures  as  the  Tenor's  and  the  Boy's.  It  was  the  Tenor, 
though,  that  felt  this  moment  most.  His  nature,  if  not  deeper, 
was  more  devout  than  the  Boy's;  pleasure  with  him  was  a 
veritable  uplifting  of  the  spirit  in  praise  and  thankfulness ; 
and  all  the  peace  and  quietness  about  them,  the  marvellous 
light  on  hill  and  wood  and  vale,  and  even  the  nearness  of  the 
unseen  city,  which  he  felt  without  perceiving  it,  and  from 
which  there  came  to  him  that  sense  of  fellowship  and  of  the 
sacredness  of  human  life  in  which  all  the  best  qualities  of  man 
are  rooted  ;  these  together  sanctified  the  time.  Although,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  to  such  a  nature  all  times  and  seasons  are 
sanctified.  For  if  ever  a  man's  soul  was  purified  on  earth,  his 
was  ;  and  if  ever  a  man  deserved  to  see  heaven,  he  did. 
Humanly  speaking  there  was  no  stain  on  him  ;  in  thought, 
word,  and  deed  he  was  immaculate  and  true  as  a  little  child. 
This  moment  was  therefore  peculiarly  his  own,  a  moment  of 
deep  happiness,  which  found  expression,  as  all  pleasurable 
emotion  did  with  him,  in  music.  He  lifted  up  his  voice,  that 
wonderful  voice  which  had  no  equal  then  upon  earth,  and 
sang  as  he  had  sung  once  before  on  that  very  spot  when  the 
first  vague  idea  of  the  omnipresent  majesty  of  a  God  pos 
sessed  him,  sang  with  all  his  heart,  and  it  was  the  litany  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  the  one  he  had  heard  in  France  in  days  gone 
by,  the  one  he  had  been  singing  when  first  he  met  the  Boy, 
which  recurred  to  him  now — why  or  wherefore  it  would  be 
hard  to  say.  He  had  not  thought  of  it  since.  But  perhaps 
the  moon,  which  was  shining  again  as  it  had  shone  that  night 
on  the  old  market-place,  had  helped  to  recall  it,  or  perhaps  it 
satisfied  him  with  a  sense  of  appropriateness.  For  it  was  not 
a  dismal,  monotonous  product  of  mercenary  dryness  to  which 
the  words  were  set,  but  the  characteristic  music  of  devotion 
by  which  the  spirit  of  prayer  is  made  audible  when  words 
fail,  as  they  always  do,  to  express  it  in  all  its  force  and  fervour. 
The  Boy  listened  a  while  with  parted  lips.  It  was  a  new  ex- 


THE    HEAVENLY   TWINS.  44 * 

perience  for  him,  and  he  was  deeply  moved.  Then  his  musical 
instinct  awoke,  and  presently  he  took  up  the  strain,  voice  and 
violin,  accompanying  the  Tenor,  who  rowed  on  once  more, 
while  the  river  banks  resounded  with,  "  Christe  audi  nos, 
Christe  exaudi  nos,"  and  re-echoed  "  Miserere  nobis." 

At  one  point  as  they  approached,  a  lady  appeared  suddenly, 
and  stood  with  her  hands  clasped  to  her  breast,  looking  and 
listening.  She  was  a  tall  and  graceful  woman,  wrapped  in  a 
long  cloak  and  bareheaded,  as  if  she  had  stepped  out  from 
somewhere  just  for  the  moment.  She  evidently  recognized  the 
singer ;  and  the  Boy  would  have  recognized  the  beautiful 
face,  strong  in  its  calm,  sad  serenity,  and  compassionate,  had 
he  looked  that  way  ;  but  he  did  not  look  that  way,  and  they 
swept  on,  the  music  growing  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  dis 
tance,  till  at  last  the  boat  was  out  of  sight.  Yet  even  then  a 
few  high  notes  continued  to  float  back  ;  but  these  in  turn 
quivered  into  silence,  and  all  was  still — only  for  a  moment, 
though,  for  the  clocks  had  struck  unheeded,  and  now  the 
chime  rang  out  through  the  sultry  air,  voice-like,  clear,  and 
resonant : 


$  * 


rf^tf-rrng 


He,  watch-ing  o-ver        Is  -  ra  •  el,     slumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 

The  lady  listened,  looking  up  as  if  the  message  were  for 
her,  but  sighed. 

"  It  will  come  right,  I  know,"  she  said  as  she  turned  away. 
"But,  Lord,  how  long?" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IR  perfumed  with  flowers ;  music,  motion,  warmth,  and 
stillness  ;  moonlit  meadows,  shadowy  woods,  the  river,  and 
the  boat ;  it  had  been  a  time  of  delight  too  late  begun  and  too 
soon  ended.  But  exaltation  cannot  last  beyond  a  certain  time 
at  that  height,  and  then  comes  the  inevitable  reaction.  It 
came  upon  the  Tenor  and  the  Boy  quite  suddenly,  and  for  no 
apparent  reason.  It  was  the  Boy  who  felt  it  first,  and  left  off 
playing,  then  the  song  ceased,  and  the  Tenor  rowed  on  dili 
gently.  They  were  near  the  landing  place  by  this  time,  but 


442  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

the  Tenor  did  not  know  it.     He  had  not  noticed  the  landmarks 
as  they  passed,  and  thought  they  had  still  some  distance  to 

g°- 

"Here,  Boy,"  he  said,  breaking  a  long  silence.     "Take  the 

oars  and  row.     I  am  tired.     And  it  is  your  turn  now." 

"  Oh  !  "  the  Boy  exclaimed  derisively.  "  Just  as  if  I  would 
row  and  blister  my  lovely  white  hands  when  you  are  here  to 
row  me  ! " 

"  I  cannot  tolerate  such  laziness,"  the  Tenor  protested.  "  It 
is  sparing  the  rod  and  spoiling  the  child.  Here,  take  the  oars 
or  I'll  throw  you  overboard,"  and  he  made  a  gesture  toward 
him. 

The  Boy  jumped  up  laughing,  and  flourishing  his  violin  as 
if  he  would  hit  the  Tenor  on  the  head  with  it.  "Don't  touch 
me,"  he  cried,  "  or  I'll " 

"  Take  care,  for  God's  sake  !  "  the  Tenor  exclaimed. 

But  too  late.  His  excitable  companion,  in  the  middle  of 
cutting  a  fantastic  caper,  reeled,  lost  his  balance,  plunged 
head  foremost  into  the  water,  and  sank  like  a  stone. 

Without  a  moment's  delay  the  Tenor  dived  in  after  him,  the 
cockleshell  of  a  boat,  half  capsizing  as  he  went  over,  took  in 
water  enough  to  sink  her  to  the  gunwale,  and  the  whole  thing- 
happened  so  quickly  that  a  spectator  on  the  bank  who  had 
seen  the  boat  and  its  occupants  one  moment  might  have 
looked  in  vain  the  next  for  any  trace  of  either. 

The  Tenor  came  to  the  surface  alone.  His  dive  in  the 
uncertain  light  had  been  unsuccessful,  and  now  he  had  the 
strength  of  mind  to  wait — in  what  agony  of  suspense  Heaven 
only  knows  ! — till  the  Boy  should  rise.  It  could  only  have 
been  a  few  seconds,  but  it  was  long  enough  for  the  Tenor  to 
lay  another  man's  death  at  his  own  door,  to  realize  the  loss  to 
himself  the  Boy  would  be,  and  his  position  when  he  would 
have  to  take  the  dreadful  news  to  the  family,  only  one  member 
of  which  in  all  probability  knew  of  their  intimacy.  She  knew 
— But,  good  Heaven  !  would  she  not  blame  him  ?  Oh,  he  had 
been  to  blame,  to  blame  ! — It  was  only  a  few  seconds,  yet  it 
was  time  enough  for  the  unfortunate  Tenor  to  live  over  again 
the  awful  moment  when  he  had  seen  his  best  friend  drop  dead, 
only  there  was  a  double  pang,  for  time  and  space  were  con 
founded,  and  it  was  as  if  both  father  and  brother — as  they 
had  been  to  him — had  gone  down  at  once,  and  both  by  his 
hand. 

In  that  brief  interval  of  suffering  his  face  had  become  rigid 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  443 

and  set,  a  stony  mask  with  no  visible  sign  of  emotion  upon  it; 
and  yet  the  man's  strength  and  power  of  endurance  were 
evident  in  this,  that  he  had  the  courage  to  wait. 

And  presently  the  Boy  rose  to  the  surface  within  easy  reach. 

With  an  exclamation  of  relief  the  Tenor  grasped  him,  and 
struck  out  for  the  shore — afraid  at  first  that  the  Boy,  who 
apparently  could  not  swim,  would  cling  about  him  in  his  fright 
and  hamper  his  movements;  and  then  afraid  because  the  Boy 
did  not  cling  about  him,  but  suffered  himself  to  be  dragged 
through  the  water,  inert,  like  a  log,  helpless,  lifeless — no,  not 
lifeless,  the  Tenor  argued  with  himself.  He  could  not  be 
lifeless,  you  know.  He  had  not  been  in  the  water  long  enough 
for  that.  The  Tenor  noticed  that  he  had  not  let  go  of  his 
violin,  and  thought :  "  The  ruling  passion  strong  in — no,  not 
in  death.  How  could  a  dead  hand  hold  on  like  that  ?  Boy, 
dear  Boy!"  But  the  Boy  made  no  response.  The  Tenor 
had  struck  out  for  the  nearest  bank  which,  as  luck  would  have 
it,  brought  him  to  the  landing  place  at  the  Watergate.  His 
perception  seemed  singularly  quickened  ;  every  sense  was 
actively  alive  to  what  was  passing  ;  nothing  escaped  him  ; 
and  he  rendered  an  account  to  himself  of  all  that  occurred, 
feeling  it  strange  the  while  that  he  should  be  able  to  do  so  at 
such  a  time.  He  noticed  some  detail  of  the  stonework  in  the  arch 
as  he  swam  toward  it  ;  he  noticed  the  poplars,  some  three 
or  four  of  different  heights,  which  stood  up  all  stiff  and  vimi- 
neous  as  seen  from  below,  beside  it  ;  he  remembered  the  Boy 
once  saying  they  looked  like  hairy  caterpillars  standing  on 
their  heads,  and  smiled  even  now  at  the  quaint  conceit. 
When  he  reached  the  steps  and  clutched  the  handrail,  it  was 
with  a  sensation  of  joy  that  nearly  paralyzed  him.  It  was 
curious,  though,  what  odd  and  trivial  phrases  rose  to  his  lips, 
what  irrelevant  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind. 

"  Mustn't  holloa  till  we're  out  of  the  wood,"  he  warned 
himself,  as  he  drew  the  Boy  from  the  water  with  difficulty, 
and,  getting  him  over  his  shoulder  so  that  he  could  hold  him 
with  one  hand  and  steady  himself  on  the  steep  steps  with  the 
other  began  to  stagger  up.  "  I  wonder  what  the  Boy  would 
say  if  he  could  see  me  now  !  "  was  his  involuntary  thought 
as  he  did  so. 

The  Boy  was  heavier  than  his  slender  figure  would  have  led 
one  td  suppose,  or  else  the  Tenor  was  not  so  strong  as  he 
thought  himself ;  at  all  events  he  swayed  under  his  burden  as 
he  carried  him  through  the  silent  Close,  now  putting  out  his 


444  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

hand  flat  against  a  wall  to  steady  himself,  and  now  staggering 
up  to  the  gnarled  trunk  of  one  of  the  old  lime  trees,  and 
pausing  to  take  breath  while  he  mentally  calculated  the  dis 
tance  between  that  and  the  next  support  at  which  he  could 
stop  to  rest,  noticing  in  the  brief  interval  the  blackness  of  the 
shadows  ;  noticing  also  a  little  shiver  of  leaves  above  him 
caused  by  a  gust  of  air,  the  first  forerunner  of  a  breeze  that 
was  rapidly  rising  ;  noticed  this  last  fact  particularly,  partly 
because  the  wind  chilled  him  in  his  thin  wet  flannels,  and 
partly  because  it  marked  the  change  and  contrast  between  the 
warm  and  happy  time  just  over,  the  anxious  present  moment, 
and  the  dread  of  what  might  be  yet  to  come.  The  next  sup 
port  was  the  corner  of  the  wall  which  surrounded  the  dean's 
garden  ;  creeping  on  by  that  till  it  ended,  he  made  an  unsteady 
dash  across  the  road  for  the  wall  of  the  cathedral,  and  then 
from  that  across  again,  zigzag,  to  his  own  little  gate,  where, 
gathering  his  strength  for  the  last  effort,  he  took  the  Boy, 
whom  he  apostrophised  as  a  perfect  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  in 
both  arms,  as  a  mother  does  her  child,  and  a  moment  after 
ward  laid  him  on  the  floor  of  the  long  low  room  where  they 
had  spent  so  many  happy  hours  together,  and  from  whence  he 
had  gone  out  a  short  time  before  all  life  and  strength  and 
youth  and  beauty :  "Gone  to  his  death!"  The  Tenor  felt 
the  phrase  in  his  mind,  but  stifled  it  with  a  "  Thank  God  !  " 
as  he  laid  him  down. 

He  had  been  fatigued  by  the.  long  row  when  the  accident 
happened,  and  was  now  almost  exhausted  by  excitement, 
terror  for  the  Boy,  and  this  last  effort  ;  but  still  his  mind 
went  on  with  abnormal  clearness  noting  every  trifle,  and  con 
tinuing  to  force  him,  as  it  were,  to  render  an  account  of  each 
to  himself.  He  noticed  the  perfume  of  roses,  the  roses  the 
Boy  had  showered  in  upon  him — so  short  a  time  before 
— and  he  found  himself  measuring  the  shortness  of  the 
interval  again  as  if  it  would  have  been  easier  to  bear  the 
catastrophe  had  it  not  jostled  a  happier  state  of  things  so 
closely.  He  found  himself  wondering  what  the  Boy  would 
say  if  he  knew  he  had  brought  him  in  by  the  front  door 
instead  of  by  the  window  ;  he  was  sure  he  would  have  insisted 
on  the  mode  of  entrance  he  so  much  preferred  had  he  been 
conscious,  and  felt  as  if  he  had  taken  a  disloyal  advantage  of 
the  Boy's  helpless  condition. 

But  while  these  trivial  thoughts  flashed  through  his  brain 
he  lost  no  time,  not  even  in  lighting  a  lamp,  though  the  room 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  445 

was  dark.  What  there  was  to  be  done  must  be  done  promptly, 
and  with  the  same  extraordinary  lucidity  of  mind  he  remem 
bered  every  simple  remedy  there  was  at  his  disposal.  He  ran 
upstairs,  three  steps  at  a  time,  for  the  blankets  off  his  own 
bed.  He  had  made  up  the  kitchen  fire,  as  was  his  wont,  that 
evening,  for  the  Boy  to  cook  if  it  pleased  him,  and  fortunately 
it  was  burning  brightly  still.  He  warmed  the  blankets  there, 
and  then  returning,  stripped  the  light  flannel  clothing  from 
the  Boy,  loosened  his  fingers  from  the  violin  which  he  still 
clutched  convulsively,  rolled  him  up  in  them,  and  then,  with 
an  effort,  lifted  him  on  to  the  sofa,  where  he  had  sat  and 
jested  only  a  little  while  ago — and  again  the  involuntary  reck 
oning  of  time,  to  consider  the  contrast  between  the  then  and 
now,  smote  the  Tenor  to  the  heart  with  a  cruel  pang. 

"  Boy,  dear  Boy  !  "  he  called  to  him.  He  was  kneeling 
beside  him,  but  could  only  see  a  dim  outline  of  his  face  in  the 
obscurity  of  the  room,  and  perhaps  it  was  the  darkness  that 
made  him  look  so  rigid.  "  Boy,  dear  Boy  !  "  he  cried  again, 
but  the  Boy  made  no  sign.  "  O  God,  spare  him  !  "  the  stricken 
man  implored.  And  then  he  clasped  the  lad  in  his  arms  and 
pressed  his  cheek  to  his  in  a  burst  of  grief  and  tenderness  not 
to  be  controlled.  He  held  him  so  for  a  few  seconds;  and  it 
seemed  as  if  in  that  close  embrace,  his  whole  being  had 
expressed  itself  in  love  and  prayer,  as  if  he  had  wrestled  with 
death  itself  and  conquered,  for  all  at  once  he  felt  the  Boy's 
limbs  quiver  through  their  clumsy  wrappings,  and  then  he 
heard  him  sigh.  Oh,  the  rdlief  of  it  !  The  sudden  reaction 
made  him  feel  sick  and  faint.  But  the  precious  life  was  not 
yet  safe.  "There's  many  a  slip  " — so  his  mind  began  in  spite 
of  an  effort  to  control  it.  "  Restoratives — heat,  stimulants, 
friction.  He  pulled  the  stand  of  ferns  and  flowering  plants 
half  round  from  the  fireplace  roughly,  so  that  the  pots  fell  up 
against  each  other,  or  rolled  on  the  floor  ;  then  he  fetched  the 
burning  coals  from  the  kitchen,  and  heaped  them  on  till  the 
grate  was  full.  The  kettle  had  been  boiling  on  the  hob,  so  he 
brought  it  in  now  hissing,  with  brandy  to  make  a  drink.  But 
he  must  have  more  light.  Where  are  the  matches  ?  Nowhere, 
of  course.  They  never  are  when  they're  wanted.  However, 
it  didn't  matter,  a  piece  of  paper  would  do  as  well,  and  he 
twisted  a  piece  up  and  stooped  among  the  scattered  roses  to 
light  it  at  the  fire,  and  then  he  lit  the  lamp  and  turned  to  look 
at  the  Boy.  All  this  had  been  done  in  a  moment,  as  it  seemed, 
his  face  was  still  bright  with  hope,  and  prepared  to  smile 


44C  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

encouragement.  But — "  God  in  heaven  !  "  he  cried  ;  under  his 
breath,  as  a  man  does  who  is  too  shocked  to  speak  out. 

Had  some  strange  metamorphosis  been  brought  about  by 
that  sudden  immersion  ? 

He  pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort,  and  walked  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  where  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
sofa,  and  his  hands  upraised  to  his  head,  trying  to  steady  him 
self.  Then  he  returned. 

No,  he  had  not  been  mistaken,  he  was  not  mad,  he  was  not 
dreaming.  It  was  the  Boy  who  had  plunged  into  the  water 
headforemost,  but  this 

"  God  in  heaven  !  "  he  ejaculated  again,  under  his  breath, 
and  then  stood  gazing  like  one  transfixed. 

For  this,  with  the  handsome,  strong  young  face  upturned, 
the  smooth  white  throat,  the  dark  brown  braids  pinned  close 
to  the  head,  ail  wet  and  shining ;  this  was  not  the  Boy,  but 
the  Tenor's  own  lady,  his  ideal  of  purity,  his  goddess  of  truth, 
his  angel  of  pity,  as,  in  his  foolishly  fond  way  idealizing,  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  consider  her.  It  was  Angelica  her 
self  !  Yet  so  complete  had  been  the  deception  to  his  simple, 
unsuspicious  mind,  so  impossible  to  believe  was  the  revela 
tion,  and  so  used  was  he  to  associate  some  idea  of  the  Boy 
with  everything  that  occurred,  that  now,  with  his  first  con- 
scions  mental  effort,  he  began  to  blame  him  as  if  her  being 
there  were  due  to  some  unpardonable  piece  of  his  mischief. 

**  The  little  wretch,"  he  began,  "  how  dare  he  " — he  stopped 
there,  realizing  the  absurdity  of  if:,  realizing  that  there  was  no 
Boy  ;  and  no  lady  for  the  matter  of  that,  at  least  none  such  as 
he  had  imagined.  It  had  all  been  a  cruel  fraud  from  begin 
ning  to  end. 

It  was  a  terrible  blow,  but  the  high-minded,  self-contained 
dignity  of  the  man  was  never  more  apparent  than  in  the  way 
he  bore  it.  His  face  was  unnaturally  pale  and  set,  but  there 
was  no  other  sign  of  what  he  suffered,  and,  the  first  shock 
over,  he  at  once  resumed  his  anxious  efforts  to  restore — the 
girl — whose  consciousness  had  scarcely  yet  returned,  although 
she  breathed  and  had  moved.  It  was  curious  how  the  new 
knowledge  already  affected  his  attitude  toward  her.  In  pre 
paring  the  hot  drink  he  put  half  the  quantity  of  brandy  he 
would  have  used  five  minutes  before  for  the  Boy,  and  when 
he  had  to  raise  her  head  to  make  her  swallow  it,  he  did  so 
reluctantly.  It  was  only  a  change  of  idea  really,  the  Boy  was 
a  girl,  that  was  all ;  but  what  a  difference  it  made,  and  would 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWIXS.  447 

have  made  even  if  there  had  been  no  question  of  love  and 
marriage  in  the  matter  !  At  any  other  time  the  Tenor  himself 
might  have  marvelled  at  the  place  apart  we  assign  in  our  esti 
mation  to  one  of  two  people  of  like  powers,  passions, 
impulses,  and  purposes,  simply  because  one  of  them  is  a 
woman. 

The  stimulant  revived  the  girl,  and  presently  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  met  his  as  he  bent  over  her. 

"  You  are  better  now,  I  hope,"  he  said  coldly,  moving  away 
from  her. 

"  I  am  better,"  she  answered,  and  again  their  eyes  met. 
But  there  was  yet  another  moment  of  dazed  semi-conscious 
ness  before  she  was  able  to  attach  any  meaning  to  the  change 
she  saw  in  his  face  ;  and  then  it  flashed  upon  her.  What  she 
had  hoped,  feared,  expected,  and  prevented  every  time  they 
met  had  come  to  pass.  He  knew  at  last,  and  she  could  see 
at  once  what  he  thought  of  her.  She  would  never  again  meet 
the  tolerant  loving  glance  he  had  had  for  the  Boy,  nor  note 
the  tender  reverence  of  his  face  when  her  own  name  was  men 
tioned.  His  idol  was  shattered,  the  dream  and  hope  of  his 
life  was  over,  and  from  all  that  remained  of  them,  herself  as 
she  really  was,  he  shrank  as  from  the  dishonoured  fragment  of 
some  once  loved  and  holy  thing — a  thing  which  is  doubly 
painful  to  contemplate  in  its  ruin  because  of  the  importunate 
memories  that  cling  about  it. 

Realizing  something  of  this,  she  uttered  a  smothered  ejacu 
lation,  and  covered  her  face  with  a  gesture  of  intolerable 
shame.  There  was  always  that  saving  grace  of  womanliness 
about  Angelica,  that  when  there  was  no  excuse  for  her  con 
duct,  she  had  the  honesty  to  be  ashamed  of  herself ;  in  conse 
quence  of  which  she  was  one  of  those  who  never  erred  in  the 
same  way  twice. 

The  Tenor  turned  to  the  fire,  and  then  noticing  her  wet 
things  scattered  about  he  gathered  them  up  :  "  I  will  take 
them  and  dry  them,"  he  said,  and  gladly  made  his  escape. 
What  he  thought  in  the  interval  was:  "I  must  marry  her 
now,  I  suppose,"  and  he  could  not  help  smiling  ironically  at 
this  new  way  of  putting  it,  nor  wondering  a  little  at  the  possi 
bility  of  such  a  sudden  change  of  feeling  as  that  which  had 
all  at  once  transformed  the  dearest  wish  of  his  life  into  a  dis 
tasteful,  if  not  altogether  repugnant,  duty. 

When  the  things  were  dry  he  took  them  to  her. 

"  I  will  leave  you  to  put  them  on."  he  said.     "  Will  you 


44**  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

kindly  call  me  when  you  are  ready  ? "  And  then  he  closed  the 
window  that  looked  out  on  the  road,  drew  down  the  blind, 
and  once  more  left  her. 

No  reproach  could  have  chilled  and  frightened  her  as  this 
stiff  and  formal,  yet  cool  acceptance  of  the  position  did.  She 
feared  it  meant  that  all  was  over  between  them  in  a  way  she 
had  never  thought  possible.  But  still  she  hoped  to  coax  him 
round.  She  dreaded  the  next  hour,  the  day  of  reckoning, 
as  it  were,  but  did  not  try  to  escape  it.  On  the  contrary,  she 
hastened  her  dressing  in  order  to  get  it  over  as  quickly  as 
possible. 

"  Israfil  ! "  she  called  to  him  boldly,  as  soon  as  she  was 
ready. 

The  Tenor  returned. 

She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  when  he  entered, 
and  she  looked  at  him  confidently,  and  just  as  the  "  Boy " 
would  have  done  after  a  piece  of  mischief  which  he  had 
determined  to  brazen  out.  The  Boy  had  two  moods,  the 
defiant  and  the  repentant ;  it  seemed  that  the  girl — but  here 
the  Tenor  checked  his  thoughts.  It  was  very  hard,  though, 
to  drop  either  of  the  two  individualities  which  had  hitherto 
been  so  distinct  and  different,  and  to  realize  that  one  of  them 
at  least  had  never  existed. 

She  certainly  brought  more  courage  to  the  interview  than 
he  did,  for  he,  the  wronged  one,  found  as  he  faced  her  now 
that  he  had  not  a  word  to  say  for  himself.  For  the  moment, 
she  was  master  of  the  situation,  and  she  began  at  once  as  if 
the  whole  thing  were  a  matter  of  course. 

Catching  an  involuntary  glance  of  the  Tenor's,  she  put 
both  hands  up  to  her  head  as  the  Boy  would  have  done — so 
the  Tenor,  still  confused  between  the  two,  expressed  it  to 
himself;  and  the  old  familiar  gesture  sent  another  pang 
through  his  heart.  The  water  had  washed  the  flaxen  wig 
away,  but  the  thick  braids  of  her  hair  were  still  pinned  up 
tightly,  accounting  for  the  shape  of  the  remarkable  head  about 
which  the  Boy  had  so  often,  and,  as  was  now  evident,  so  reck 
lessly,  jested. 

Her  hair  was  very  wet,  and  she  began  deliberately  to  take 
it  down  and  unplait  it. 

"  I  could  not  always  make  it — my  head,  you  know — the 
same  shape,"  she  said,  answering  his  thought ;  "  but  you 
never  noticed  the  difference,  although  you  often  looked.  I 
used  to  wonder  how  you  could  look  so  intelligently  and  see 


THE  IIEAVrENLY   TWINS.  449 

so  little" — and  she  glanced  down  at  herself,  so  unmistakably 
a  woman  now  that  he  knew.  She  had  been  like  a  conundrum, 
the  answer  to  which  you  would  never  have  guessed  for  your- 
self,  but  you  see  it  at  once  when  you  hear  it,  and  then  it  seems 
so  simple.  She  was  rather  inclined  to  speak  to  the  Tenor  in 
a  half  pitying,  patronizing  way,  as  to  a  weak  creature  easily 
taken  in  ;  but  he  had  recovered  himself  by  this  time,  and 
something  in  his  look  and  manner  awed  her,  determined  as 
she  was,  and  she  could  not  keep  it  up. 

He  moved  farther  from  her,  and  then  spoke  in  a  voice  made 
harsh  by  the  effort  it  cost  him  to  control  it. 

"  Why  have  you  done  this  thing  ?  "  he  said  sternly. 

Her  heart  began  to  beat  violently.  The  colour  left  her  lips, 
and  she  sank  into  a  chair,  covered  once  more  with  shame  and 
confusion.  But,  boy  or  girl,  the  charm  of  her  peculiar  per- 
sonality  was  still  the  same,  and  it  had  its  effect  upon  him  even 
at  that  moment,  indignant  as  he  was,  as  she  sat  there,  her  long 
hair  falling  behind  her,  looking  up  at  him  with  timid  eyes  and 
with  tremulous  mouth. 

It  was  pitiful  to  see  her  so,  and  it  softened  him. 

"  What  was  your  object  ?  "  he  asked,  relenting. 

"  Excitement — restlessness — if  I  had  any,"  she  faltered. 
"  But  I  had  no  object.  I  am  inventing  one  now  because  you 
ask  me  ;  it  is  an  afterthought.  I — I  took  the  first  step  " — 
with  a  dry  sob — "  and  then  I — I  just  drifted  on — on,  you 
know — from  one  thing  to  another." 

"  But  tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  persisted,  taking  a  seat  as  he 
spoke.  "  Tell  me  exactly  how  it  began." 

There  was  no  help  for  it  now.  He  was  sitting  in  judgment 
upon  her,  and  she  felt  that  she  must  make  an  effort  to  satisfy 
him. 

"  It  began — oh,  let  me  see  !  how  am  I  to  tell  you  ? "  and 
she  twisted  her  hands,  frowning  in  perplexity.  "  I  don't  want 
to  embellish  the  story  so  as  to  make  it  picturesque  and  myself 
more  interesting,"  and  she  looked  at  the  Tenor  with  slightly 
elevated  eyebrows,  as  if  pained  already  by  her  own  inaccuracy. 
There  was  something  irresistibly  comic  in  this  candid  avowal 
of  the  force  of  habit,  and  all  the  more  so  because  she  was  too 
much  in  earnest  for  once  to  see  the  humour  of  it  herself.  The 
Tenor  saw  it,  however,  but  he  made  no  sign. 

*'  Well,  begin,"  he  said.  "  I  ought  to  know  your  method 
sufficiently  well  by  this  time  to  enable  me  to  sift  the  wheat 
from  the  chaff." 


45°  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Angelica  considered  a  little,  and  then  she  answered,  hesi 
tating  as  if  she  were  choosing  each  word  :  "  I  see  where  the 
mistake  has  been  all  along.  There  was  no  latitude  allowed 
for  my  individuality.  I  was  a  girl,  and  therefore  I  was  not 
supposed  to  have  any  bent.  I  found  a  big  groove  ready  wait 
ing  for  me  when  I  grew  up,  and  in  that  I  was  expected  to  live 
whether  it  suited  me  or  not.  It  did  not  suit  me.  It  was  deep 
and  narrow,  and  gave  me  no  room  to  move.  You  see,  I  loved 

'to  make  music.  Art  !  ^TTiat  was  it.  There  is  in  my  own 
mind  an  imperative  monitor  which  urges  me  on  always  into 
competition  with  other  minds.  I  wanted  to  do  as  well  as  to  be, 
and  I  knew  I  wanted  to  do  ;  but  when  the  time  came  for  me  to 
begin,  my  friends  armed  themselves  with  the  whole  social  sys 
tem  as  it  obtains  in  our  state  of  life,  and  came  out  to  oppose 
me.  They  used  to  lecture  me  and  give  me  good  advice,  as  if 
they  were  able  to  judge,  and  it  made  me  rage.  I  had  none  of 
the  domestic  virtues,  and  yet  they  would  insist  upon  domesti 
cating  me  ;  and  the  funny  part  of  it  was  that,  side  by  side  with 
my  natural  aspirations  was  an  innate  tendency  to  conform  to 
their  ideas  while  carrying  out  my  own.  I  believe  I  could  have 
satisfied  them — my  friends — if  only  they  had  not  thwarted  me. 
But  that  was  the  mistake.  I  had  the  ability  to  be  something 
more  than  a  young  lady,  fiddling  away  her  time  on  useless 
trifles,  but  I  was  not  allowed  to  apply  it  systematically,  and 
ability  is  like  steam — a  great  power  when  properly  applied,  a 
great  danger  otherwise.  Let  it  escape  recklessly  and  the 
chances  are  someone  will  be  scalded  ;  bottle  it  up  and  there 
will  be  an  explosion.  In  my  case  both  happened.  The  steam 
was  allowed  to  escape  at  first  instead  of  being  applied  to  help 
me  on  in  a  definite  career,  and  a  good  deal  of  scalding  en 
sued  ;  and  then,  to  remedy  that  mistake,  the  dangerous  experi 
ment  of  bottling  it  up  was  tried,  and  only  too  successfully.  I 
helped  a  little  in  the  bottling  myself,  I  suppose,  and  then  came 
the  explosion.  This  is  the  explosion," — glancing  round  the 
disordered  room,  and  then  looking  down  at  her  masculine 
attire.  "  I  see  it  all  now,"  she  proceeded  in  a  spiritless  way, 
looking  fixedly  into  the  fire,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  describe 
something  she  saw  there.  "  I  had  the  feeling,  never  actually 
formulated  in  words,  but  quite  easy  to  interpret  now,  that  if  I 
broke  down  conventional  obstacles — broke  the  hampering 

laws  of  society,  I  should  have  a  chance " 

"  It  is  a  common  mistake/'  the  Tenor  observed,  filling  up 
the  pause. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  45 l 

"  But  I  did  not  know  how,"  she  pursued,  "  or  where  to 
begin,  or  what  particular  law  to  break — until  one  evening.  I 
was  sitting  alone  at  an  open  window  in  the  dark,  and  I  was 
tired  of  doing  nothing  and  very  sorry  for  myself,  and  I  wanted 
an  object  in  life  more  than  ever,  and  then  a  great  longing 
seized  me.  I  thought  it  an  aspiration.  I  wanted  to  go  out 
there  and  then.  I  wanted  to  be  free  to  go  and  come  as  I 
would.  I  felt  a  galling  sense  of  restraint  all  at  once,  and  I 
determined  to  break  the  law  that  imposed  it ;  and  that  alone 
was  a  satisfaction — the  finding  of  one  law  that  I  could  break. 
I  didn't  suppose  I  could  learn  much — there  wasn't  much  left 
to  learn," — this  was  said  bitterly,  as  if  she  attached  the  blame 
of  it  to  somebody  else — u  but  I  should  be  amused,  and  that 
was  something  ;  and  I  should  see  the  world  as  men  see  it,  _ 
which  would  be  from  a  new  point  of  view  for  me,  and  that 
would  be  interesting.  It  is  curious,  isn't  it  ? "  she  reflected, 
that  what  men  call  «  life  '  they  always  go  out  at  night  to  see  ; 
and  what  they  mean  by  *  life  '  is  generally  something  disgrace 
ful  ?  "  It  was  to  the  fire  that  she  made  this  observation,  and 
then  she  resumed  :  "  It  is  astonishing  how  importunate  some 
ideas  become — one  now  and  then  of  all  the  numbers  that  occur 
to  you  ;  how  it  takes  possession  of  you,  and  how  it  insists  upon 
being  carried  into  effect.  This  one  gave  me  no  peace.  I 
knew  from  the  first  I  should  do  it,  although  I  didn't  want  to, 
and  I  didn't  intend  to,  if  you  can  understand  such  a  thing. 
But  my  dress  was  an  obstacle.  As  a  woman,  I  could  not 
expect  to  be  treated  by  men  with  as  much  respect  as  they 
show  to  each  other.  I  know  the  value  of  men's  cant  about 
protecting  the  '  weaker  '  sex  !  Because  I  was  a  woman  I  knew\ 
I  should  be  insulted,  or  at  all  events  hindered,  however  inof-\ 
fensive  my  conduct  ;  and  so  I  prepared  this  disguise.  And  I  J 
began  to  be  amused  at  once.  It  amused  me  to  devise  it.  I  / 
saw  a  tailor's  advertisement,  with  instructions  how  to  measure 
yourself  ;  and  I  measured  myself  and  sent  to  London  for  the 
clothes — these  thin  ones  are  padded  to  make  me  look  square 
like  a  boy.  And  then,  with  some  difficulty,  I  got  a  wig  of  the 
right  colour.  It  fitted  exactly — covered  all  my  own  hair,  you 
know,  and  was  so  beautifully  made  that  it  was  impossible  for 
any  unsuspicious  person  to  detect  it  without  touching  it  ;  and 
the  light  shade  of  it,  too,  accounted  for  the  fairness  of  my  skin, 
which  would  have  looked  suspiciously  clear  and  delicate  with 
darker  hair.  The  great  difficulty  was  my  hands  and  feet ;  but 
the  different  shape  of  a  boy's  shoes  made  my  feet  pass  ;  and  I 


45 2  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

crumpled  my  hands  up  and  kept  them  out  of  sight  as  much  as 

possible.     But  they  are  not  of  a  degenerated  smallness,"  she 

added,  looking  at  them  critically  ;  "  it  is  more  their  shape. 

However,  when  I  dressed  myself  and  put  on  that  long  ulster, 

I  saw  the  disguise  would  pass  and  felt  pretty  safe.     But  isn't 

/-it  surprising  the  difference  dress  makes?-    I  should  hardly 

^  have  thought  it  possible  to  convert  a  substantial  young  woman 

\    into  such  a  slender,  delicate-looking  boy  as  I  make.     But  it 

just  shows  how  important  dress  is." 

The  Tenor  groaned.  "  Didn't  you  know  the  risk  you  were 
running  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  answered  coolly.  "  I  knew  I  was  breaking 
a  law  of  the  land.  I  knew  I  should  be  taken  before  a  police 
magistrate  if  I  were  caught  masquerading,  and  that  added 
excitement  to  the  pleasure — the  charm  of  danger.  But  then 
you  see  it  was  danger  without  danger  for  me,  because  I  knew 
I  should  be  mistaken  for  my  brother.  Our  own  parents  do 
not  know  us  apart  when  we  are  dressed  alike." 

"  Oh,  then  there  are  two  of  you  ?  "  the  Tenor  said. 

"  Yes.  I  told  you.  They  call  us  the  Heavenly  Twins,"  said 
Angelica. 

"  Yes,  you  told  me,"  the  Tenor  repeated  thoughtfully. 
"  But  then  you  told  me  so  many  things." 

"  Well,  I  told  you  nothing  that  was  not  absolutely  true," 
Angelica  answered — "from  Diavolo's  point  of  view.  I 
assumed  his  manner  and  habits  when  I  put  these  things  on, 
imitated  him  in  everything,  tried  to  think  his  thoughts,  and 
looked  at  myself  from  his  point  of  view  ;  in  fact  my  difficulty 
was  to  remember  that  I  was  not  him.  I  used  to  forget  some 
times  and  think  I  was.  But  I  confess  that  I  never  was  such 
a  gentleman  as  Diavolo  is  always  under  all  circumstances. 
Poor  dear  Diavolo  !  "  she  added  regretfully  ;  "  how  he  would 
have  enjoyed  those  fried  potatoes  !  " 

The  Tenor  slightly  changed  his  position.  He  only  glanced 
at  her  now  and  then  when  he  spoke  to  her,  and  for  the  rest  he 
sat  as  she  did,  with  his  calm  deep  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  and 
an  expression  of  patient  sadness  upon  his  face  that  wrung  her 
heart.  Perhaps  it  was  to  stifle  the  pain  of  it  that  she  began  to 
talk  garrulously.  "  Oh,  I  am  sorry  for  the  trick  I  have  played 
you  !  "  she  exclaimed  with  real  feeling.  "  I  have  been  sorry 
all  along  since  I  knew  your  worth,  and  I  came  to-night  to  tell 
you,  to  confess  and  to  apologize.  When  I  first  knew  you  all 
ray  laving  consciousness  was  dormant,  if  you  know  what  that  is  j 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  453 

I  mean  the  love  in  us  for  our  fellow-creatures  which  makes  it 
pain  to  ourselves  to  injure  them.  But  you  re-aroused  that 
feeling,  and  strengthened  and  added  to  it  until  it  had  become 
predominant,  so  that,  since  I  have  known  you  as  you  are,  I 
have  hated  to  deceive  you.  This  is  the  first  uncomfortable 
feeling  of  that  kind  I  have  ever  had.  But  for  the  rest  I  did 
not  care.  I  was  bored.  I  was  always  bored  ;  and  I  resented 
the  serene  unconcern  of  my  friends.  Their  indifference  to  my 
aspirations,  and  the  way  they  took  it  for  granted  that  I  had 
everything  I  ought  to  want,  and  could  therefore  be  happy  if  I 
chose,  exasperated  me.  To  be  bored  seems  a  slight  thing, 
but  a  world  of  suffering  is  contained  in  the  experience  ;  and 
do  you  know,  Israfil,  I  think  it  dangerous  to  leave  an  energetic 
woman  without  a  single  strong  interest  or  object  in  life. 
Trouble  is  sure  to  come  of  it  sooner  or  later — which  sounds 
like  a  truism  now  that  I  have  said  it,  and  truisms  are  things 
which  we  habitually  neglect  to  act  upon.  In  my  case  nothing 
of  this  kind  would  have  happened  " — and  again  her  glance 
round  the  room  expressed  a  comprehensive  view  of  her  present 
situation — "  if  I  had  been  allowed  to  support  a  charity  hospital 
with  my  violin — or  something  ;  made  to  feel  responsible,  you 
know." 

"  But  surely  you  must  recognize  the  grave  responsibility 
which  attaches  to  all  women " 

"  In  the  abstract,"  Angelica  interposed.  "  I  know  if  things 
go  wrong  they  are  blamed  for  it ;  if  they  go  right  the  Church 
takes  the  credit.  The  value  attached  to  the  influence  of 
women  is  purely  fictitious,  as  individuals  usually  find  when 
they  come  to  demand  a  recognition  of  their  personal  power. 
I  should  have  been  held  to  have  done  my  duty  if  I  had  spent 
the  rest  of  my  life  in  dressing  well,  and  saying  the  proper 
thing;  no  one  would. consider  the  waste  of  power  which  is 
involved  in  such  an  existence.  /You  often  hear  it  said  of  a  girl 
that  she  should  have  been  a  boy,  which  being  interpreted 
means  that  she  has  superior  abilities  ;  but  because  she  is  a 
woman  it  is  not  thought  necessary  to  give  her  a  chance  of 
making  a  career  forjierself.  I  hope  to  live,  however,  to  see  it 
allowed  that"a~woman  has  no  more  right  to  bury  her  talents 
than  a  man  has  ;  in  which  davs  the  man  without  brains  will  be 
taught  to  cook  and  clean,  \>rtile  the  clever  woman  will  be 
doing  the  work  of  the  world  well  which  is  now  being  so  shame 
fully  scamped.  But  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  am  sure  all  my 
vagaries  have  arisen  out  of  the  dread  of  having  nothing  better 


454  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

to  do  from  now  until  the  day  of  my  death — as  I  once  said  to 
an  uncle  of  mine — but  to  get  up  and  go  to  bed,  after  spending 
the  interval  in  the  elegant  and  useless  way  ladies  do — a  ride, 
a  drive,  a  dinner,  a  dance,  a  little  music — trifling  all  the  time 
to  no  purpose,  not  even  amusing  one's  self,  for  when  amuse 
ment  begins  to  be  a  business,  it  ceases  to  be  a  pleasure.  This 
has  not  mended  matters,  I  know,"  she  acknowledged  drearily  ; 
"  but  it  has  been  a  distraction,  and  that  was  something  while 
it  lasted.  Monotony,  however  luxurious,  is  not  less  irksome 
because  it  is  easy.  A  hardworking  woman  would  have  rest  to 
look  forward  to,  but  I  hadn't  even  that,  although  I  was  always 
wearied  to  death — as  tired  of  my  idleness  or  purposeless  occu 
pations  as  anybody  could  possibly  be  by  work.  I  think  if  you 
will  put  yourself  in  my  place,  you  will  not  wonder  at  .me,  nor 
at  any  woman  under  the  circumstances  who,  secure  of  herself 
and  her  position,  varies  the  monotony  of  her  life  with  an  occa 
sional  escapade  as  one  puts  sauce  into  soup  to  relieve  the 
insipidity.  Deplore  it  if  you  will,  but  don't  wonder  at  it  ;  it 
is  the  natural  consequence  of  an  unnatural  state  of  things  , 
and  there  will  be  more  of  it  still,  or  I  am  much  mis 
taken." 

Again  the  Tenor  changed  his  position.  "I  cannot,  cannot 
comprehend  how  you  could  have  risked  your  reputation  in 
such  a  way,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  with  grave  concern. 

"  No  risk  to  my  reputation,"  she  answered  with  the  insolence 
of  rank.  "  Everybody  knows  who  I  am,  and,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  '  That  in  the  captain's  but  a  choleric  word  which  in  the 
soldier  is  rank  blasphemy.'  What  would  be  an  unpardonable 
offence  if  committed  by  another  woman  less  highly  placed  than 
myself  is  merely  an  amusing  eccentricity  in  me,  so — for  my 
benefit — conveniently  snobbish  is  society.  Since  I  grew  up, 
however,  I  find  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  can  say  flip 
pantly,  *  You  can't  have  everything,  and  if  people  have  talents 
they  are  not  to  be  expected  to  have  characters  as  well.'  Great 
talent  should  be  held  to  be  a  guarantee  for  good  character  ; 
the  loss  of  the  one  makes  the  possession  of  the  other  dangerous. 
But  what  I  do  maintain  is  that  I  have  done  nothing  by  which 
I  ought  in  justice  to  be  held  to  have  jeopardised  my  character. 
I  have  broken  no  commandment,  nor  should  I  under  any  cir 
cumstances.  It  is  only  the  idea  of  the  thing  that  shocks  your 
prejudices.  You  cannot  bear  to  see  me  decently  dressed  as  a 
boy,  but  you  would  think  nothing  of  it  if  you  saw  me  half 
undressed  for  a  ball,  as  I  often  am  ;  yet  if  the  oc?  can  be  done 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  455 

with  a  modest  mind,  and  you  must  know  that  it  can,  so  can  the 
other,  I  suppose." 

The  Tenor  was  sitting  sideways  on  his  chair,  his  elbow  rest 
ing  on  the  back,  his  head  on  his  hand,  his  legs  crossed,  half 
turned  from  her  and  listening  without  looking  at  her  ;  and 
there  was  something  in  the  way  she  made  this  last  remark  that 
set  a  familiar  chord  vibrating  not  unpleasantly.  Perhaps,  after 
the  revelation,  he  had  expected  her  to  turn  into  a  totally 
different  person  ;  at  all  events  he  was  somewhat  surprised, 
but  not  disagreeably,  to  perceive  how  like  the  Boy  she  was. 
This  was  the  Boy  aga»in,  exactly,  in  a  bad  mood,  and  the  Tenor 
sought  at  once,  as  was  his  wont,  to  distract  him  rather  than 
argue  him  out  of  it.  This  was  the  force  of  habit,  and  it  was 
also  due  to  the  fact  that  his  mind  was  rapidly  adapting  itself 
to  a  strange  position  and  becoming  easier  in  the  new  attitude. 
The  woman  he  had  been  idolizing  was  lost  irretrievably,  but 
the  charm  which  had  been  the  Boy's  remained  to  him,  and  he 
had  already  begun  to  reconcile  himself  to  the  idea  of  a  wrong- 
headed  girl  who  must  be  helped  and  worked  for,  instead  of  a 
wrong-headed  boy. 

"  But  why  should  you  have  chosen  this  impossible  form  of 
amusement  in  particular?"  he  said.  "Why  could  you  not 
interest  yourself  in  the  people  about  you — do  something  for 
them?" 

"I  did  think  of  that,  I  did  try,"  she  answered  petulantly. 
"  But  it  is  impossible  for  a  woman  to  devote  herself  to  people 
for  whom  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  who  don't  want  her 
devotion  ;  and,  besides,  devotion  wasn't  my  vocation.  But, 
after  all,"  she  broke  off,  defending  herself,  "  I  only  arrived  at 
this  by  slow  degrees,  and  I  never  should  have  come  so  far  at 
all  if  Diavolo  had  stuck  to  me  ;  but  he  got  into  a  state  of 
don't-care-and-can't-be-bothered,  and  separated  his  work  from 
mine  by  going  to  Sandhurst.  Then  I  found  myself  alone,  and 
you  cannot  think  how  a  woman  must  suffer  from  the  awful 
loneliness  of  a  life  like  mine  when  I  had  no  one  near  me  in  the 
sense  in  which  Diavolo  has  always  been  near,  a  life  that  is  full 
of  acquaintances  as  a  cake  is  full  of  currants,  no  two  of  which 
ever  touch  each  other." 

The  Tenor's  habitual  quiescence  seemed  to  have  deserted 
.him.  He  changed  his  position  incessantly,  and  did  so  now 
again  ;  it  was  the  only  sign  he  made  of  being  disturbed  at,  all; 
and  as  he  moved  he  brushed  his  hand  back  over  his  hair,  but 
did  not  speak. 


45 6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  I  kept  my  disguise  a  long  time  before  I  used  it,"  she 
began  again,  another  morsel  of  incident  and  motive  recurring 
to  her.  "  I  don't  think  I  had  any  very  distinct  notion  of  what 
I  should  do  with  it  when  I  got  it.  The  pleasure  of  getting  it 
had  been  everything  for  the  moment,  and  having  succeeded  in 
that  and  tried  the  dress,  I  hid  it  away  carefully  and  scarcely 
ever  thought  of  it — never  dreamt  of  wearing  it  certainly  until 
one  night — it  was  quite  an  impulse  at  last.  That  night,  you 
know,  the  first  time  we  met — it  was  such  a  beautiful  night  !  I 
was  by  myself  and  had  nothing  to  do  as  usual,  and  it  tempted 
me  sorely.  I  thought  I  should  like  to  see  the  market-place  by 
moonlight,  and  then  all  at  once  I  thought  I  would  see  it  by 
moonlight.  That  was  my  first  weighty  reason  for  changing 
my  dress.  But  having  once  assumed  the  character,  I  began 
to  love  it ;  it  came  naturally  ;  and  the  freedom  from  restraint, 
I  mean  the  restraint  of  our  tight  uncomfortable  clothing,  was 
delicious.  I  tell  you  I  was  a  genuine  boy.  I  moved  like  a 
boy,  I  felt  like  a  boy;  I  was  my  own  brother  in  very  truth. 
Mentally  and  morally,  I  was  exactly  what  you  thought  me, 
and  there  was  little  fear  of  your  finding  me  out,  although  1 
used  to  like  to  play  with  the  position  and  run  the  risk." 

"It  was  marvellous,"  the  Tenor  said. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  answered,  "  not  a  bit  more  marvellous  in 
real  life  than  it  would  have  been  upon  the  stage — a  mere  exer 
cise  of  the  actor's  faculty  under  the  most  favourable  circum 
stances  ;  and  not  a  bit  more  marvellous  than  to  create  a  char 
acter  as  an  author  does  in  a  book  ;  the  process  is  analogous. 
But  the  same  thing  has  been  done  before.  George  Sand,  for 
instance  ;  don't  you  remember  how  often  she  went  about 
dressed  as  a  man,  went  to  the  theatres  and  was  introduced  to 
people,  and  was  never  found  out  by  strangers  ?  And  there 
was  that  woman  who  was  a  doctor  in  the  army  for  so  long — 
'-until  she  was  quite  old.  James  Barry,  she  called  herself,  and 
none  of  her  brother  officers,  not  even  her  own  particular  chum 
in  the  regiment  she  first  belonged  to,  had  any  suspicion  of  her 
sex,  and  it  was  not  discovered  until  after  her  death,  when  she 
had  been  an  Inspector  General  of  the  Army  Medical  Depart 
ment  for  many  years.  And  there  have  been  women  in  the 
ranks  too,  and  at  sea.  It  was  really  not  extraordinary  that  an 
unobservant  and  unsuspicious  creature  like  yourself  should 
have  been  deceived." 

This  recalled  the  patronizing  manner  of  the  Boy  at  times, 
and  the  Tenor  smiled. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TIVTNS.  457 

"  The  meeting  with  you  was  an  accident,  of  course,"  Angel 
ica  proceeded  with  her  disjointed  narrative  ;  "  but  I  thought  I 
would  turn  it  to  account.  I  was,  as  you  used  to  say,  devoured 
by  curiosity,  and  my  mind  is  always  tentative.  I  wanted  to 
hear  how  men  talk  to  each  other.  I  didn't  believe  in  good 
ness  in  a  man,  and  I  wanted  to  see  badness  from  the  man's 
point  of  view.  I  expected  to  find  you  corrupt  in  some  particu 
lar,  to  see  your  hoofs  and  your  horns  sooner  or  later,  and  I 
tried  to  make  you  show  them  :  but  that  of  course  you  never 
did,  and  I  soon  realized  my  mistake.  I  had  a  standing  quar 
rel  with  your  sex,  however,  and  at  first  it  pleased  me  to  deceive 
you  simply  because  you  were  a  man.  That  was  only  at  the 
very  first,  for,  as  soon  as  I  began  to  appreciate  your  worth,  I 
felt  ashamed  of  myself.  Don't  you  see,  Israfil,  you  have  been 
raising  me  all  along,  It  has  been  a  very  gradual  process, 
though,  but  still  I  did  wish  to  undeceive  you.  I  would  have 
done  so  at  once  if  you  had  not  been  so  far  above  me.  If  you 
had  spoken  to  me  when  I  gave  you  that  chance — in  the  cathe 
dral  after  the  service,  don't  you  remember  ? — it  would  have 
been  stepping  down  from  your  pedestal  ;  we  should  have  been 
on  the  same  level  then,  and  I  need  not  have  dreaded  your 
righteous  indignation.  But  as  it  was  you  maintained  your 
high  position,  and  I  was  afraid — and  I  could  not  give  you  up. 
It  was  delightful  to  look  at  myself — an  ideal  self — from  afar 
off  with  your  eyes  ;  it  made  me  feel  as  if  I  could  be  all  you 
thought  me  ;  it  made  me  wish  to  be  so  ;  and  it  also  made  me 
more  sorry  than  anything  to  have  you  think  so  highly  of  me 
when  I  did  not  deserve  it.  All  these  were  signs  of  awakening 
which  I  recognized  myself — and  I  did  try  over  and  over  again 
to  undeceive  you  about  my  character,  but  you  never  would 
listen  to  me.  I  wish — I  wish  you  had  !  " 

"  Do  you  love  me  then  ? "  the  Tenor  asked  her,  and  was 
startled  himself  as  soon  as  he  had  spoken  by  the  immediate 
effect  of  the  question  upon  her.  It  was  evident  that  she  had 
received  a  terrible  shock.  She  changed  colour  and  counte 
nance,  and  swayed  for  a  moment  as  if  she  were  about  to  faint, 
and  he  sprang  up  to  catch  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  recovered 
herself  sufficiently  to  check  the  impulse  :  "  No,  no,"  she 
exclaimed  hoarsely, — "  stop  !  stop  !  you  don't  know — My  God! 
how  could  I  have  put  myself  in  such  a  position  ? — I  mean — let 

me  tell  you "  She  shut  her  eyes  and  waited,  the  Tenor 

looking  at  her  in  pained  surprise.  He  sank  again  on  to  the 
seat  from  which  he  had  risen,  and  waited  also,  wondering. 


45 8  THE  HEAVENLY   TWfVS. 

Presently  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  :  "  The 
charm — the  charm,"  she  faltered,  "  has  all  been  in  the  delight 
of  associating  with  a  man  intimately  who  did  not  know  I  was 
a  woman.  I  have  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  free  intercourse  with 
your  masculine  mind  undiluted  by  your  masculine  prejudices 
and  proclivities  with  regard  to  my  sex.  Had  you  known  that 
I  was  a  woman — even  you — the  pleasure  of  your  companion 
ship  would  have  been  spoilt  for  me/so  unwholesomely  is  the 
imagination  of  a  man  affected  by  ideas  of  sex.  The  fault  is  in 
your  training  ;  you  are  all  of  you  educated  deliberately  to 
think  of  women  chiefly  as  the  opposite  sex.  Your  manner  to 
me  has  been  quite  different  from  that  of  any  other  man  I  ever 
knew.  Some  have  fawned  on  me,  degrading  me  with  the 
supposition  that  I  exist  for  the  benefit  of  man  alone,  and  that 
it  will  gratify  me  above  all  else  to  know  that  I  please  him  ; 
and  some  few,  such  as  yourself,  have  embarrassed  me  by  put 
ting  me  on  a  pedestal,  which  is,  I  can  assure  you,  an  exceed 
ingly  cramped  and  uncomfortable  position.  There  is  no  room 
to  move  on  a  pedestal.  Now,  with  you  alone  of  all  men,  not 
excepting  Diavolo,  I  almost  think  I  have  been  on  an  equal 
footing  ;  and  it  has  been  to  me  like  the  free  use  of  his  limbs 
to  a  prisoner  after  long  confinement  with  chains."  The 
expression  which  the  Tenor's  abrupt  question  had  called  into 
her  countenance  passed  off  as  she  spoke,  and  with  it  the 
impression  it  had  made  upon  the  Tenor.  He  mistook  the 
remarks  she  had  just  been  making  for  a  natural  girlish  evasion 
of  the  subject,  and  he  did  not  return  to  it,  partly  because  he 
felt  it  to  be  an  inopportune  time,  but  also  because  he  was 
pretty  sure  of  her  feeling  for  him,  and  thought  that  he  would 
have  ample  leisure  by  and  by,  the  leisure  of  a  lifetime,  to 
press  the  question.  There  were  other  explanations  to  be  asked 
for  too,  which  it  seemed  advisable  to  him  to  get  over  at  once 
and  have  done  with. 

"  But  how  have  you  managed  to  get  out  night  after  night," 
he  asked,  "  without  being  missed  ?  " 

"  Not  night  after  night,"  she  answered.  "  If  you  remember, 
there  were  often  long  intervals.  But  I  have  told  you,  I  was 
constantly  alone.  The  house  is  large,  none  of  the  servants 
sleep  near  my  room,  and  my  husband " 

"  Your — what?  "  the  Tenor  demanded,  turning  round  on  his 
chair  to  face  her,  every  vestige  of  colour  gone  from  his  coun- 
terance,  yet  not  convinced.  "  What  did  you  say  ? "  he 
repeated,  aghast. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  459 

"  My— husband,"  she  faltered.  "  Mr,  Kilroy  of  Ilver- 
thorpe." 

Hitherto,  he  had  uttered  no  reproach,  but  she  knew  that 
this  reticence  was  due  to  self-respect  rather  than  to  any  lin 
gering  remnant  of  deference,  and  now  when  she  saw  his  face 
ablaze  she  was  prepared  for  an  outburst  of  wrath.  All  he 
said,  however,  was,  speaking  with  quiet  dignity  :  "  You  need 
not  have  allowed  that  part  of  the  deception  to  go  on.  You 
should  have  told  me  that  at  once  ;  why  did  you  not  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  Angelica  lost  her  presence  of  mind.  "I— 
I  forgot,"  she  stammered. 

The  Tenor  threw  back  his  sunny  head  and  laughed  bitterly. 

"  It  is  a  curious  fact,"  Angelica  remarked  upon  reflection, 
and  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  "  but  I  really  had  forgotten. 

The  Tenor  looked  at  the  fire,  and  in  the  little  pause  that 
ensued  Angelica  suddenly  lost  her  temper. 

"  If  you  are  deceived  in  me  you  have  deceived  yourself," 
she  burst  out,  "  for  I  have  tried  my  utmost  to  undeceive  you. 
You  go  and  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  you  have  never  spoken  to 
in  your  life,  you  endow  her  gratuitously  with  all  the  virtues 
you  admire  without  asking  if  she  cares  to  possess  them  ;  and 
when  you  find  she  is  not  the  peerless  perfection  you  require 
her  to  be,  you  blame  her  !  oh  !  isn't  that  like  a  man  ?  You  all 
say  the  same  thing  :  « It  wasn't  me  ! ' ' 

"  What  will  your  husband  say  ? "  the  Tenor  ejaculated  in  an 
undertone. 

"  Well,  you  see  the  bargain  was  when  I  asked  him  to  marry 
me " 

"  When  you  what  ?  "  said  the  Tenor. 

"  Asked  him  to  marry  me,"  Angelica  calmly  repeated.  "  The 
bargain  was  that  he  should  let  me  do  as  I  liked,  there  being  a 
tacit  understanding  between  us,  of  course,  that  I  should  do 
nothing  morally  wrong.  I  could  not  under  any  circumstances 
do  anything  morally  wrong — not,  I  confess,  because  I  am 
particularly  high-minded,  but  because  I  cannot  imagine  where 
the  charm  and  pleasure  of  the  morally  wrong  comes  in.  The 
best  pleasures  in  life  are  in  art,  not  in  animalism ;  and  all  the 
benefit  of  your  acquaintance,  I  repeat,  has  consisted  in  the 
fact  that  you  were  unaware  of  my  sex.  I  knew  that  directly 
you  became  aware  of  it  another  element  would  be  introduced 
into  our  friendship  which  would  entirely  spoil  it  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned." 

It  is  a  noteworthy  fact,  as  showing  how  hopelessly  involved 


460  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

man's  moral  perceptions  are  with  his  prejudices  and  faith  in 
custom  even  when  reprehensible,  that  the  Tenor  was  if  any 
thing  more  shocked  by  Angelica's  outspoken  objection  to 
grossness  than  he  would  have  been  by  a  declaration  of  passion 
on  her  part.  The  latter  lapse  is  not  unprecedented,  and  there 
fore  might  have  been  excused  as  natural ;  but  the  unusual 
nature  of  the  declaration  she  had  made  put  it  into  the  cate 
gory  to  which  all  things  out  of  order  are  relegated  to  be  taken 
exception  to,  irrespective  of  their  ethical  value.  But  he  said 
nothing,  only  he  turned  from  her  once  more,  and  gazed  sor 
rowfully  into  the  fire. 

Angelica  looked  at  him  with  a  dissatisfied  frown  on  her  face. 
"  I  wish  you  would  speak,"  she  said  to  him  under  her  breath  ; 
and  then  she  began  again  herself  with  her  accustomed  volubil 
ity  :  "  Oh,  yes,  I  married.  That  was  what  was  expected  of 
me.  Now,  my  brother  when  he  grew  up  was  asked  with  the 
most  earnest  solicitude  what  he  would  like  to  be  or  to  do  ; 
everything  was  made  easy  for  him  to  enter  upon  any  career  he 
might  choose,  but  nobody  thought  of  giving  me  a  chance.  It 
was  taken  for  granted  that  I  should  be  content  to  marry,  and 
only  to  marry,  and  when  I  expressed  my  objection  to  being  so 
limited  nobody  believed  I  was  in  earnest.  So  here  I  am.  And 
I  won't  deny,"  she  confessed  with  her  habitual  candour,  "  that 
it  did  occur  to  me  that  I  might  have  cared  for  you  as  a  lover 
had  I  not  been  married.  But  of  course  the  thought  did  not 
disturb  me.  It  was  merely  a  passing  glimpse  of  a  might-have- 
been.  When  one  has  a  husband  one  must  be  loyal  to  him, 
even  in  thought,  whatever  terms  we  are  on." 

The  Tenor  rose  abruptly  and  walked  to  the  farther  end  of 
the  room,  and  stood  there  for  a  little  leaning  against  the 
window-frame  with  his  back  to  her,  looking  out  at  the  cathe 
dral.  He  felt  sick  and  faint,  and  found  the  fire  and  the  smell 
of  the  roses  overpowering.  But  presently  he  recovered,  and 
then  he  returned  to  her.  His  face  was  set  now,  white  and 
passionless,  as  it  had  been  while  he  waited  to  rescue  her  from 
the  river,  and  when  he  spoke  there  was  no  tone  in  his  voice  ; 
it  was  as  if  he  were  repeating  some  dry  fact  by  rote. 

"  There  is  no  excuse  for  you  then,"  he  said  ;  and  she  per 
ceived  with  surprise  that  until  he  knew  she  was  married  he  had 
tried  to  believe  that  there  was.  "  You  were  playing  with  me, 
cheating  me,  mocking  me  all  the  time." 

Angelica  looked  at  him  in  dismay.  "  Israfil  !  Israfil  ?"  she 
pleaded,  springing  to  her  feet  and  clasping  his  arm  with  both 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  461 

hands,  her  better  nature  thoroughly  aroused,  "  O  Israfil  ! 
forgive  me  !  "  She  almost  shook  him  in  her  vehemence,  then 
flung  him  from  her,  and  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes  for  an 
instant.  "  Mocking  you  ?  Oh,  no  !  "  she  protested.  "  Believe 
me — believe  me  if  you  can.  I  respected  you  almost  from  the 
first  ;  I  reverenced  you  at  last.  I  used  to  tease  you  about 
myself  to  begin  with,  I  repeat,  because  it  did  not  occur  to  me 
that  you  could  care  seriously  for  a  girl  to  whom  you  had  never 
spoken.  Then  I  began  to  perceive  my  mistake.  Then  I  felt 
anxious  to  get  you  to  go  away  and  return,  and  be  properly 
introduced  to  us." 

"  And  so  you  schemed " 

"  I  arranged  a  future  for  you  that  is  worthy  of  you.  O 
Israfil,  I  have  some  conscience.  I  am  not  so  bad  as  you  think 
me.  Even  if  I  had  not  dared  to  tell  you  to-night,  I  should 
have  sent  you  a  full  explanation  as  soon  as  you  had  gone.  I 
thought  when  once  you  were  engaged  upon  a  new  career,  you 
would  forget — all  this." 

"  I  am  surprised  to  hear  that  you  did  not  expect  me  to 
enjoy  the  joke  at  my  own  expense — the  trick  you  have  played 
me." 

Angelica  changed  countenance  ;  it  was  exactly  what  she  had 
expected. 

"  Don't  speak  bitterly  to  me,"  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  not 
natural  for  you  to  do  so.  Oh  !  I  should  know — I  know  only 
too  well — all  your  good  qualities.  My  heart  has  been  wrung 
a  hundred  times — by  the  thought — of  all — I  have — lost — by 
my  folly."  She  raised  her  hands  with  a  despairing  gesture. 
"  Don't  imagine  that  you  suffer — alone — or  more  than  I  do. 
There  is  hope  for  you  ;  there  is  none  for  me.  But  one  thing 
has  been  a  comfort.  I  knew  you  only  cared  for  an  ideal 
creature,  not  at  all  like  me.  I  was  not  afraid  you  would 
break:your  heart  for  a  phantom  that  Had  never  existed.  And 
for  me  as  I  am,  I  knew  you  could  have  no  regard.  I  see  " — 
she  broke  off — "  I  see  all  the  contradictions  that  are  involved 
in  what  I  have  said  and  am  saying,  and  yet  I  mean  it  all.  In 
separate  sections  of  my  consciousness  each  separate  clause 
exists  at  this  moment,  however  contradictory,  and  there  is  no 
reconciling  them  ;  but  there  they  are.  I  can't  understand  it 
myself,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  try.  All  I  ask  you  is  to  believe 
me — to  forgive  me." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence  after  this,  and  then  the 
Tenor  spoke  again. 


462  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y    '1  WINS. 

"  It  is  nearly  morning,"  he  said.  "  I  will  see  you  safely 
home." 

The  Boy  had  been  allowed  to  come  and  go  as  he  liked,  but 
with  her  it  was  different  ;  and  the  altered  position  made  itself 
again  apparent  in  this  new-found  need  for  an  escort.  It  was 
evident,  too,  from  the  way  the  Tenor  had  allowed  the  subject 
to  drop,  tacitly  agreeing  to  the  assertion  :  "  For  me  as  I  am  I 
knew  you  could  have  no  regard,"  that  he  considered  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said  ;  but  Angelica  retained  her  childish 
habit  of  talking  everything  out,  and  this  did  not  satisfy  her,  it 
was  such  a  lame  conclusion. 

She  got  up  now,  however,  to  accompany  him.  "  My  hair  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  recollecting.  "  What  am  I  to  do  with  my  hair  ? 
I  suppose  my  wig  is  lost."  Then  she  burst  out  passionately  : 
"  Oh,  why  did  you  save  my  life  !  "  and  wrung  her  hands  —  "or 
why  aren't  you  different  now  you  know  ?  Can't  you  say  some 
thing  to  restore  my  self-respect  ?  Won't  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

The  Tenor's  face  contracted  as  with  a  spasm  of  pain.  He 
had  much  to  forgive,  and  he  may  be  pardoned  if  he  showed 
no  eagerness;  but  he  spoke  at  last.  "  I  do  forgive  you,"  he 
said.  Then  all  at  once  his  great  tender  heart  swelled  with 
pity.  "  Poor  misguided  girl  !  "  he  faltered  with  a  broken  voice; 
"  may  God  in  heaven  forgive  you,  and  help  you,  and  keep  you 
safe,  and  make  you  good  and  true  and  pure  now  and  always." 

She  sank  down  at  that,  and  clasped  his  feet  and  burst  into 
a  paroxysm  of  tears,  which  were  as  a  fervent  Amen  to  the 
Tenor's  prayer. 

"  Come  !  "  he  said,  raising  her.  "  Come,  before  it  is  too 
late.  You  must  do  something  with  your  hair." 

But  she  could  not  plait  it,  her  hands  trembled  so,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  help  her.  He  got  her  a  hat  to  roll  it  up  under. 

"  The  light  is  uncertain,"  he  said,  "  and  it  is  raining  now. 
Even  if  we  do  meet  anyone,  I  don't  think  they  would  notice  — 
especially  if  I  can  find  an  umbrella  for  you." 

He  hunted  one  up  from  somewhere,  and  then  he  hurried 
her  away,  ferried  her  across  the  river,  and  left  her  at  the  lodge 
gate  safely,  his  last  words  being:  —  "  You  will  do  some  good  in 
the  world—  you  will  be  a  good  woman  yet,  I  know  —  I  know 
you  will." 


Op   BOOK 


BOOK  V. 
MRS.  KILROY  OF  ILVERTHORPE. 

Face  to  face  in  my  chamber,  my  silent  chamber,  I  saw  her  : 
God  and  she  and  I  only,  there  I  sat  down  to  draw  her  Soul  through 
The  clefts  of  confession — "  Speak,  I  am  holding  thee  fast, 
As  the  angel  of  recollection  shall  do  it  at  last!  " 

"  My  cup  is  blood-red 

With  my  sin,"  she  said, 
"  And  I  pour  it  out  to  the  bitter  lees. 
As  if  the  angel  of  judgment  stood  over  me  strong  at  last 

Or  as  thou  wert  as  these," 

— Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning^ 
Howbeit  all  is  not  lost 
The  warm  noon  ends  in  frost 
And  worldly  tongues  of  promise, 
Like  sheep-bells  die  from  us 
On  the  desert  hills  cloud-crossed: 
Yet  through  the  silence  shall 
Pierce  the  death-angel's  call, 
And  "  Come  up  hither,"  recover  all. 
Heart,  wilt  thou  go  ? 

I  go! 
Broken  hearts  triumph  so." 

-Ibid. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HALF  an  hour  after  the  Tenor  parted  from  Angelica,  she 
was  sleeping  soundly,  not  because  she  was  dedolent  but 
because  she  was  exhausted;  and  when  that  is  the  case  sleep  is 
the  blessed  privilege  of  youth  and  strength,  let  what  will  have 
preceded  it.  She  lay  there  in  her  luxurious  bed,  with  one 
hand  under  her  head,  her  thick  dark  hair — just  as  the  Tenor 
had  braided  it — in  contrast  to  the  broad  white  pillow;  her 
smooth  face,  on  which  no  emotion  of  any  kind  had  written  a 
line  as  yet,  placid  as  a  little  child's;  to  all  appearance  an  ideal 
of  innocence  and  beauty.  And  while  she  slept  the  rain 
stopped,  the  misty  morning  broke,  the  clouds  had  cleared 
away,  and  the  sun  shone  forth,  welcomed  by  a  buzz  of  insects 
and  chirrup  of  birds;  the  uprising  of  countless  summer  scents, 
and  the  opening  of  rainbow  flowers.  It  was  one  of  those 
radiant  days,  harmonizing  best  with  tranquil  or  joyous  moods, 
when,  if  we  are  disconsolate,  nature  seems  to  mock  our  misery, 
and  callous  earth  rejoices  forgetful  of  storms,  making  us  won 
der  with  a  deeper  discontent  why  we,  too,  cannot  forget. 

Angelica  slept  a  heavy  dreamless  sleep,  and  when  she  did 
awake  late  in  the  morning,  it  was  not  gradually,  with  that 
pleasant  dreamy  languor  which  precedes  mental  activity  in 
happy  times,  but  with  a  sudden  start  that  aroused  her  to  full 
consciousness  in  a  moment,  and  the  recollection  of  all  that 
had  occurred  the  night  before.  Black  circles  round  her  eyes 
bore  witness  to  the  danger,  fatigue,  and  emotion  of  her  late 
experiences;  she  had  a  sharp  pain  in  her  head,  too,  and  she 
was  unaccustomed  to  physical  pain ;  but  she  felt  it  less  than 
the  dull  ache  she  had  at  her  heart,  and  a  general  sense  of 
things  gone  wrong  that  oppressed  her,  but  which  she  strove 
with  stubborn  determination  to  stifle. 

Her  maid  was  busy  in  the  dressing  room,  the  door  of  which 
was  open,  and  she  called  her. 

"Elizabeth!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  and  the  maid  appeared,  smiling. 

She  was  a  good-looking  woman  of  thirty  or  theieabouts. 
She  had  come  to  Angelica  when  the  latter  got  out  of  her 

465 


466  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

nurse's  hands,  and  remained  with  her  ever  since,  Angelica 
being  one  of  those  mistresses  who  win  the  hearts  of  their  serv 
ants  by  recognizing  the  human  nature  in  them,  and  appre 
ciating  the  kindness  there  is  in  devotion  rather  than  accepting 
it  as  a  necessary  part  of  the  obligation  to  earn  wages. 

"Bring  me  a  cup  of  coffee,  Elizabeth." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  the  maid  rejoined.  "It  shall  be  ready  for 
you  as  soon  as  you  have  had  your  bath." 

"But  I  want  it  now,"  said  Angelica,  springing  out  of  bed 
energetically,  and  holding  first  one  slim  foot  and  then  the 
other  out  to  be  shod. 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  the  maid's  eye  as  she  answered: 
"Please,  ma'am,  you  made  me  promise  never  to  give  it  to  you, 
however  much  you  might  wish  it,  until  you  had  had  your  bath. 
You  said  you'd  be  sure  to  ask  for  it,  and  I  was  to  refuse, 
because  hot  coffee  was  bad  for  you  just  before  a  cold  bath,  and 
you  really  enjoyed  it  more  afterward,  only  you  hadn't  the 
strength  of  mind  to  wait." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Angelica.  "You're  a  treasure,  Elizabeth, 
really.  But  did  I  say  you  were  to  begin  to-day?" 

"No,  ma'am;  not  to-day  in  particular.  But  the  last  time  I 
brought  it  to  you  early  you  scolded  me  after  you  had  taken  it, 
and  said  if  ever  I  let  myself  be  persuaded  again,  you'd  dismiss 
me  on  the  spot.  And  you  warned  me  that  you'd  be  artful  and 
get  it  out  of  me  somehow  if  I  didn't  take  care." 

"So  I  did,"  said  Angelica. 

She  had  been  brought  up  with  a  pretty  smart  shock  the  night 
before,  and  was  suffering  from  the  physical  effects  of  the  same 
that  morning;  the  mental  were  still  in  abeyance.  She  felt  a 
strange  lassitude  for  one  thing,  and  was  strongly  inclined  to 
indulge  it  by  being  indolent.  She  breakfasted  in  her  own 
room,  but  could  not  eat,  neither  could  she  read.  She  turned 
her  letters  over;  then  tried  a  book;  then  going  back  to  her 
letters  again,  she  picked  one  out  which  she  had  overlooked 
before.  It  was  from  her  husband,  and  as  she  read  it  she 
changed  countenance  somewhat,  but  it  would  be  impossible  to 
say  what  the  change  betokened,  whether  pleasure  or  the  reverse. 

"Elizabeth,"  she  said,  speaking  evenly  as  usual,  "your 
master  is  coming  back  to-day.  He  will  be  here  for  lunch." 

The  sickening  sense  of  loss  and  pain  which  had  assailed  her 
when  she  awoke  that  morning  did  not  diminish  as  the  day  wore 
on,  nor  did  her  thoughts  grow  less  importunate;  but  she  stead 
ily  refused  to  entertain  any  of  them,  or  to  let  her  mental  dis- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  467 

comfort  interfere  with  her  occupations.  After  reading  her 
husband's  letter  she  finished  dressing,  had  a  long  interview 
with  her  housekeeper,  went  round  the  premises  as  was  her 
daily  habit,  to  see  that  all  was  in  order,  and  then  retired  to  her 
morning  room,  and  set  to  work  methodically  to  write  orders, 
see  to  accounts,  and  answer  letters.  It  was  a  busy  day  with 
her,  and  she  had  only  just  finished  when  Mr.  Kilroy  arrived. 
She  went  to  meet  him  pleasantly,  held  up  her  cheek  to  be 
kissed,  and  said  she  was  glad  he  was  in  time  for  lunch.  There 
was  no  sign  of  the  joy  or  effusion  with  which  young  wives 
usually  receive  their  husbands  after  an  absence,  but  the  greet 
ing  was  eminently  friendly.  Angelica  had  always  had  a  strong 
liking  for  Mr.  Kilroy,  and,  as  she  told  him,  marriage  had  not 
affected  this  in  any  way.  She  had  made  a  friend  of  him  while 
she  was  still  in  the  schoolroom,  and  confided  to  him  many 
things  which  she  would  not  have  mentioned  to  anyone  else,  not 
even  excepting  Diavolo;  and  she  continued  to  do  so  still.  She 
was  sure  of  his  sympathy,  sure  of  his  devotion,  and  she 
respected  him  as  sincerely  as  she  trusted  him.  In  fact,  had 
there  been  any  outlet  for  her  superfluous  mental  energy,  any 
satisfactory  purpose  to  which  the  motive  power  of  it  might 
have  been  applied,  she  would  have  made  Mr.  Kilroy  an  excel 
lent  wife.  She  was  not  in  love  with  him,  but  she  probably 
liked  him  all  the  better  on  that  account,  for  she  must  have 
been  disappointed  in  him  sooner  or  later  had  she  ever  discov 
ered  in  him  those  marvellous  fascinations  which  passion  projects 
from  itself  on  to  the  personality  of  the  most  commonplace  per 
son.  As  it  was,  however,  she  had  always  left  him  out  of  her 
day-dreams  altogether.  She  quite  believed  that  pleasure  is  the 
end  of  life,  but  then  her  ideal  of  pleasure  was  nice  in  the 
extreme.  Nothing  so  vulgar  and  violent  as  passion  entered 
into  it,  and  nothing  so  transient,  so  enervating,  corroding,  and 
damaging  both  to  the  intellectual  powers  and  the  capacity  for 
permanent  enjoyment;  and  nothing  so  repulsive  either  in  its 
details,  its  self-centred  egotistical  exaltation,  and  the  self- 
abasement  which  arrives  with  that  final  sense  of  satiety  which 
she  perceived  to  be  inevitable.  That  part  of  her  nature  had 
never  been  roused  into  active  life,  partly  because  it  was  not 
naturally  strong,  but  also  because  the  more  refined  and  delicately 
sensuous  appreciation  of  beauty  in  life,  which  is  so  much  a 
characteristic  of  capable  women  nowadays,  dominated  such 
animalism  as  she  was  equal  to,  and  made  all  coarser  pleasures 
repugnant.  It  had  been  suggested  to  her  that  she  might,  with 


468  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

her  position  and  wealth,  form  a  salon  and  lay  herself  out  to 
attract,  but  she  said:  "No,  thank  you.  One  sees  in  the  his 
tory  of  French  salons  the  effect  of  irresponsible  power  on  the 
women  who  formed  them.  I  am  bad  enough  naturally,  with 
out  applying  for  a  licence  to  become  worse,  by  making  myself 
so  agreeable  that  everybody  will  excuse  me  if  I  do.  And  as 
to  being  a  great  beauty  and  nothing  else,  one  might  as  well  be 
a  great  cow;  the  comfort  would  be  the  same  and  the  anxiety 
less,  the  amount  of  attention  received  not  depending  on  a  clear 
complexion  or  an  increase  of  figure,  and  therefore  necessi 
tating  no  limit  in  the  enjoyment  of  such  good  things  as  come 
with  the  varying  seasons,  the  winter  wurzel  and  summer  state 
of  being  in  clover." 

It  was  to  Mr.  Kilroy  that  these  remarks  were  made  one  day 
when  she  wanted  a  target  to  talk  at,  for  her  appreciation  of 
her  husband  did  not  amount  to  any  adequate  comprehension 
of  the  extent  to  which  he  understood  her.  The  truth  was, 
however,  that  he  understood  her  better  than  anybody  else  did, 
the  complete  latitude  he  gave  to  her  to  do  as  she  liked  being 
evidence  of  the  fact,  if  only  she  could  have  interpreted  it;  but 
she  had  failed  to  do  so,  his  quiet  undemonstrative  manner 
having  sufficed  to  deceive  her  superficial  observation  of  him  as 
effectually  as  the  treacherous  smoothness  of  her  own  placid 
face  when  in  repose,  upon  the  unruffled  surface  of  which  there 
was  neither  mark  nor  sign  to  indicate  the  current  of  changeful 
moods,  ambitious  projects,  and  poetical  fancies,  which  coursed 
impetuously  within,  might  excusably  have  imposed  upon  him. 
He  was  twenty  years  older  than  Angelica  and  looked  it,  but 
more  by  reason  of  his  grave  demeanour  than  from  any  actual 
mark  of  age,  for  his  life  had  been  well  ordered  and  as  free  from 
care  as  it  had  been  from  corruption.  Mr.  Kilroy  was  not  a 
talkative  man,  and  what  he  did  say  was  neither  original  nor 
brilliant,  yet  he  was  generally  trusted,  and  his  advice  oftener 
asked  and  followed  than  that  of  people  whose  reputations  were 
at  least  as  good,  and  whose  abilities  were  infinitely  better;  the 
explanation  of  which  was  probably  to  be  found  in  the  good 
feeling  which  he  brought  to  the  consideration  of  all  subjects. 
Some  people  whose  brains  would  be  at  fault  if  they  were  asked 
to  judge,  are  enabled  by  qualities  of  heart  to  feel  their  way  to 
the  most  praiseworthy  conclusions.  Mr.  Kilroy  was  one  of 
those  people,  well-born  and  of  ample  means,  whom  society 
recognizes  as  its  own,  but  without  enthusiasm,  the  sterling 
qualities  which  make  them  such  an  addition  to  its  ranks  being 


THE  HEAVENLY    TWINS.  469 

less  appreciated  than  the  wealth  and  position  which  they  con 
tribute  to  its  resources;  still,  in  his  case  it  was  customary  for 
women  to  describe  him  as  "a  thoroughly  nice  man,"  while  "an 
exceedingly  good  fellow"  was  the  corresponding  masculine 
verdict. 

He  was  in  parliament  now,  and  was  consequently  obliged  to 
be  in  London  continually,  but  latterly  Angelica  had  refused  to 
accompany  him.  She  loved  their  place  near  Morningquest, 
and  she  had  begun  to  appreciate  the  ancient  city  with  its 
kindly,  benighted,  unchristian  ways,  its  picturesqueness,  and 
all  that  was  odd  and  old-world  about  it.  There,  too,  she  was 
somebody,  but  in  crowded  London  she  lost  all  sense  of  her 
own  identity;  though,  to  do  her  justice,  she  disliked  it  less  for 
that  than  for  itself,  for  its  hot  rooms,  society  gossip,  vapid  men 
and  spiteful  women.  Mr.  Kilroy  could  rarely  persuade  her  to 
accompany  him,  and  never  induce  her  to  stay.  Having  her 
with  him  was  just  the  one  thing  that  he  was  a  little  persistent 
about,  and  her  wilfulness  in  this  respect  had  been  a  real 
trouble  to  him.  He  had  come  now  to  see  if  she  continued 
obdurate,  and  he  came  meekly  and  with  conciliation  in  his 
whole  attitude.  She  thought,  however,  that  she  knew  how  to 
get  rid  of  him,  how  to  make  him  return  alone  in  a  week  of  his 
own  accord,  so  far  as  he  himself  knew  anything  about  it,  and 
that,  too,  without  thinking  her  horrid;  and  she  laid  her  plans 
accordingly.  This  was  something  to  do;  and  so  irksome  did 
she  find  the  purposeless  existence  which  the  misfortune  of  hav 
ing  been  born  a  woman  compelled  her  to  lead,  that  even  such 
an  object  was  a  relief,  and  her  spirits  rose.  Something — any 
thing  for  an  occupation ;  that  was  the  state  to  which  she  was 
reduced.  She  began  at  once,  and  began  by  talking.  All 
through  lunch  she  discoursed  admirably,  and  at  first  Mr.  Kilroy 
listened  fascinated,  but  by  and  by  his  attention  became  strained. 
He  found  himself  forced  to  listen;  it  was  an  effort,  and  yet  he 
could  not  help  himself.  He  tried  to  check  Angelica  by  assum 
ing  an  absent  look,  but  she  recalled  him  with  a  sharp  excla 
mation.  He  even  took  a  letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  read  the 
superscription,  but  put  it  away  again  shamefacedly,  upon  her 
gently  apologizing  for  monopolizing  so  much  of  his  attention. 

"You  see  it  is  so  long  since  I  saw  you, "  she  said.  "You 
must  forgive  me  if  I  have  too  much  to  say." 

When  lunch  was  over  the  carriage  came  round,  and  Angel 
ica,  all  radiant  smiles,  took  it  for  granted  that  Mr."  Kilroy 
would  go  with  her  for  a  drive.  Now,  if  there  were  one  thing 


470  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

which  he  disliked  more  than  another  it  was  a  stupid  drive 
there  and  back  without  an  object,  but  Angelica  seemed  so 
uncommonly  glad  to  see  him  he  did  not  like  to  refuse.  He 
had  many  things  to  attend  to,  but  he  felt  that  it  would  be  bad 
policy  not  to  humour  her  mood,  especially  as  it  was  such  an 
extremely  encouraging  one,  so  he  went  to  please  her  with  per 
fect  good  grace,  although  he  could  not  help  thinking  regret 
fully  of  the  precious  time  he  was  losing,  of  the  accumulation 
of  things  there  were  to  be  seen  to  about  his  own  place,  and  of 
some  important  letters  he  ought  to  have  written  that  afternoon. 
Angelica  beguiled  him  successfully  on  the  way  out,  however, 
so  that  he  did  not  notice  the  distance,  but  on  the  way  back 
her  manner  changed.  So  far  she  had  been  all  brightness  and 
animation;  now  she  became  lugubrious,  and  took  a  morbid 
view  of  things.  She  talked  of  all  the  men  of  middle  age  who 
had  died  lately,  and  of  what  they  had  died  of,  showing  that 
most  of  them  were  taken  off  suddenly  when  in  perfect  health 
apparently,  and  usually  without  any  premonitory  symptoms  of 
disease.  It  was  all  the  result  of  some  change  of  habits,  she 
said,  which  was  always  dangerous  in  the  case  of  men  of  middle 
age;  and  Mr.  Kilroy  began  to  feel  uneasy  in  spite  of  himself, 
for  he  had  been  obliged  to  alter  his  own  habits  considerably 
when  he  married,  and  he  was  apt  to  be  a  little  nervous  about 
his  health.  Consequently  he  was  much  depressed  when  they 
returned,  and  finding  that  he  had  missed  the  post  did  not  tend 
to  raise  his  spirits.  Angelica  came  down  to  dinner  dressed  is 
pale  green,  with  something  yellow  on  her  head.  Mr.  Kilroy 
admired  her  immensely;  she  was  the  only  subject  upon  which 
he  ever  became  poetical,  and  somehow  the  combination  of 
colours  she  wore  on  this  occasion,  with  her  lithe  young  figure 
and  milk-white  skin,  made  him  think  of  an  arum  lily,  and  he 
told  her  so,  and  was  very  pleased  with  the  pretty  compliment 
when  he  had  paid  it,  and  with  the  dinner,  and  everything. 
The  fatal  age  was  forgotten,  and  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
cheered  by  hopes  of  success  in  his  present  mission.  He  had 
not  yet  mentioned  it,  but  when  they  were  left  alone  at  dessert 
he  began. 

"Is  my  Chatelaine  tired  of  seclusion,  and  willing  to  return 
with  me  to  the  great  wicked  city?"  he  ventured  with  an  affec 
tation  of  playfulness,  which  rather  betrayed  than  concealed  his 
very  real  anxiety.  "A  wife's  place  is  by  her  husband." 

"Your  Chatelaine  is  not  tired  of  seclusion,"  she  answered  in 
a  cheerful  matter  of  fact  tone;  "and  it  is  a  wife's  duty  to  look 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWIN'S.  471 

after  her  husband's  house  and  keep  it  well  for  him,  especially 
in  his  absence.  But  how  much  will  you  give  me  to  go?  My 
private  purse  is  empty." 

Mr.  Kilroy  laughed.  "It  always  is,  so  far  as  I  can  make 
out,"  he  said.  "But  a  mercenary  arum  lily!  what  an  anom 
aly!  I  will  give  you  a  hundred  pounds  to  buy  dolls,  if  you 
will  go  back  with  me  next  week." 

Angelica  appeared  to  reflect.  "I  will  take  fifty,  thank  you, 
and  stay  where  I  am,"  she  answered  with  decision. 

Mr.  Kilroy 's  countenance  fell.  "If  you  will  not  come  back 
with  me,  you  shall  not  have  any,"  he  said,  with  equal  firmness. 

"Then  I  shall  be  obliged  to  make  it,"  she  rejoined,  with  a 
schoolgirl  grin  of  delight. 

This  threat  to  make  money  with  her  violin  had  kept  her 
purse  full  ever  since  her  marriage — not  that  it  was  ever  really 
empty,  for  she  had  had  a  handsome  settlement.  Mr.  Kilroy, 
however,  was  not  the  kind  of  man  to  inspect  his  wife's  bank 
book;  and  besides,  whether  she  had  money  or  not,  if  it  amused 
her  to  obtain  more,  he  never  could  be  quite  sure  that  she  would 
not  carry  out  that  dreadful  threat  and  try  to  make  it.  He 
knew  she  would  be  only  too  glad  of  an  excuse,  knew,  too,  that 
if  ever  she  tried  she  would  be  certain  to  succeed,  what  with 
her  talent,  presence,  family  prestige,  and  the  interest  which  the 
ill-used  young  wife  of  an  elderly  curmudgeon  (that  was  the 
character  she  meant  to  assume,  she  said)  was  sure  to  excite. 

She  did  not  care  for  money.  It  was  the  pleasure  of  the 
chase  that  delighted  her,  the  fun  of  extorting  it.  If  Mr.  Kilroy 
had  given  her  all  she  asked  for  without  any  trouble,  she  would 
have  soon  left  off  asking;  but  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  refuse,  by 
way  of  discipline.  Seeing  that  she  was  so  young,  he  did  not 
think  it  right  to  indulge  her  extravagance,  and  he  did  his  best 
to  curb  the  inclination  gently  before  it  became  a  confirmed 
habit. 

After  dinner  he  went  to  the  library  to  write  those  important 
letters,  and  Angelica  retired  to  the  drawing  room.  The  night 
was  close,  doors  and  windows  stood  wide  open,  and  she  got  a 
violin  and  began  to  tune  it.  She  was  too  good  a  musician  not 
to  be  able  to  make  the  instrument  an  instrument  of  torture  if 
she  chose,  and  now  she  did  choose.  She  made  it  screak;  she 
made  it  wail;  she  set  her  own  teeth  on  edge  with  the  horrid 
discords  she  drew  from  it.  It  crowed  like  a  cock  twenty-five 
times  running,  with  an  interval  of  half  a  minute  between  each 
crow.  It  brayed  like  two  asses  on  a  common,  one  answering 


472  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

the  other  from  a  considerable  distance.  And  then  it  became 
ten  cats  quarreling  crescendo,  with  a  pause  after  every  violent 
outburst,  broken  at  well-judged  intervals  by  an  occasional  howl. 

Mr.  Kilroy  endured  the  nuisance  up  to  that  point  heroically; 
but  at  last  he  felt  compelled  to  send  a  servant  to  tell  Angelica 
that  he  was  writing. 

"Oh,"  she  observed,  perversely  choosing  to  misinterpret  the 
purport  of  this  tactful  message,  "then  I  need  not  wait  for  him 
any  longer,  I  suppose.  Bring  me  my  coffee,  please." 

The  man  withdrew,  and  she  proceeded  with  the  torture. 
Mr.  Kilroy  good-naturedly  shut  his  doors  and  windows,  hoping 
to  exclude  the  sound,  when  he  found  the  hint  had  been  lost 
upon  her.  In  vain !  The  library  was  near  the  drawing  room, 
and  every  note  was  audible. 

Angelica  was  stumbling  over  an  air  now,  a  dismal  minor 
thing  which  would  have  been  quite  bad  enough  had  she  played 
it  properly,  but  as  it  was,  being  apparently  too  difficult  for  her, 
she  made  it  distracting,  working  her  way  up  painfully  to  one 
particular  part  where  she  always  broke  down,  then  going  back 
and  beginning  all  over  again  twenty  times  at  least,  till  Mr.  Kil 
roy  got  the  thing  on  the  brain  and  found  himself  forced  to  wait 
for  the  catastrophe  each  time  she  approached  the  place  where 
she  stumbled. 

Presently  he  appeared  at  the  drawing-room  door  with  a  pen 
in  his  hand,  and  a  deprecating  air.  He  suspected  no  malice, 
and  only  came  to  remonstrate  mildly. 

"Angelica,  my  dear,"  he  began,  "I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you, 
but  I  really  cannot  write — I  have  been  overworked  lately — or 
I  am  tired  with  the  journey  down — or  something.  My  head  is 
a  little  confused,  in  fact,  and  a  trifle  distracts  me.  Would 
you  mind " 

Angelica  put  down  her  violin  with  an  injured  air. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,  of  course,"  she  protested  in  a  tone 
which  contradicted  the  assertion  flatly.  "But  it  is  very  hard." 
She  took  out  her  handkerchief.  "You  are  so  seldom  at  home; 
and  when  you  are  here  you  do  nothing  but  write  stupid  letters, 
and  never  come  near  me.  And  this  time  you  are  horrid  and 
cross  about  everything.  It  is  such  a  disappointment  when  I 
have  been  looking  forward  to  your  return."  Her  voice  broke. 
"I  wish  I  had  never  asked  you  to  marry  me.  You  ought  not 
to  have  done  so — it  was  not  right  of  you,  if  you  only  meant 
to  neglect  me  and  make  me  miserable.  You  won't  do  any 
thing  for  me  now — not  even  give  yourself  the  trouble  to  write 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  473 

out  a  cheque  for  fifty  pounds,  though  it  would  not  take  you  a 
minute."  Two  great  "tears  overflowed  as  she  spoke,  and  she 
raised  her  handkerchief  with  ostentatious  slowness  to  dry  them. 

Mr.  Kilroy  was  much  distressed.  "My  dear  child!"  he 
exclaimed,  sitting  down  beside  her.  "There,  there,  Angelica, 
now  don't,  please" — for  Angelica  was  shivering  and  crying  in 
earnest,  a  natural  consequence  of  her  immersion  on  the  pre 
vious  night,  and  the  state  of  mind  which  had  ensued.  "I  am 
obliged  to  write  these  letters.  I  am  indeed.  I  ought  to  have 
done  them  this  afternoon,  but  I  went  out  with  you,  you  know. 
You  really  are  unjust  to  me.  I  have  often  told  you  that  I  do 
not  think  it  is  right  for  you  to  be  so  much  alone,  but  you  will 
not  listen  to  me.  Come  and  sit  with  me  now  in  the  library. 
I  would  much  rather  have  you  with  me.  I  would  have  asked 
you  before,  but  I  was  afraid  it  might  bore  you.  Come  now,  do!" 

"No,  I  should  only  fidget  and  disturb  you,"  she  answered, 
but  in  a  mollified  tone. 

"Well,  then,"  he  replied,  "I  will  go  and  finish  as  fast  as  I 
can,  and  come  back  to  you  here.  And  don't  fret,  my  dear 
child.  You  know  there  is  nothing  in  reason  I  would  not  do 
for  you."  In  proof  of  which  he  sent  the  butler  a  little  later, 
by  way  of  breaking  the  length  of  his  absence  agreeably,  with 
what  looked  like  a  letter  on  a  silver  salver.  Angelica  opened 
it,  and  found  a  cheque  for  a  hundred  pounds.  When  she  was 
alone  again,  she  beamed  round  upon  the  silent  company  of 
chairs  and  tables,  much  pleased.  Then  her  conscience  smote 
her.  "He  is  really  very  good,"  she  said  to  herself — "far  too 
good  for  me.  I  don't  think  I  ever  could  have  married  any 
body  else.'  But  there  was  something  dubious,  that  resembled 
a  question,  in  this  last  phrase. 

The  next  day  was  hopelessly  miserable  out  of  doors — rain 
ing,  gusty,  cold.  Mr.  Kilroy  was  not  sorry.  He  had  a  good 
deal  of  business  connected  with  his  property  to  attend  to,  and 
did  not  want  to  go  out.  And  Angelica  was  not  sorry.  She 
had  some  little  plans  of  her  own  to  carry  out,  which  a  wet  day 
rather  favoured  than  otherwise. 

Having  finished  her  accustomed  morning's  work,  and  being 
obliged  to  stay  in,  it  was  natural  that  she  should  try  to  amuse 
herself,  also  natural  that  she  should  try  something  in  the  way 
of  exercise.  So  she  collected  some  dozen  curs  she  kept  about 
the  place,  demonstrative  mongrels  for  the  most  part,  but  all 
intelligent;  and  brought  them  into  the  hall,  where  she  made 
them  run  races  for  biscuits,  the  modus  operandi  being  to  place 


474  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

a  biscuit  on  the  top  step  of  a  broad  flight  of  stairs  there  was  at 
one  end  of  the  hall,  then  to  collect  the  dogs  at  the  other,  make 
them  stand  in  a  row — a  difficult  task  to  begin  with,  but  easy 
enough  when  they  understood,  which  was  very  soon,  although 
not  without  much  shrieking  of  orders  from  Angelica,  and 
responsive  barking  on  their  part — and  then  start  them  with  a 
whip.  The  first  to  arrive  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  took  the 
biscuit  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  the  others  fought  him  for  it. 
It  was  indescribably  funny  to  see  the  whole  pack  tear  up  all 
eagerness,  and  then  come  down  again,  helter-skelter,  tumbling 
over  each  other  in  the  excitement  of  the  scrimmage,  some  of 
them  losing  their  tempers,  but  all  of  them  enjoying  the  game; 
returning  of  their  own  accord  to  the  starting  point,  waiting 
with  yelps  of  excitement  and  eyes  brightly  intent,  ears  pricked, 
jaws  open,  tongues  hanging,  tails  wagging,  sides  panting,  till 
another  biscuit  was  placed,  then  off  once  more — sometimes 
after  a  false  start  or  two,  caused  by  the  impetuosity  of  a  little 
yapping  terrier,  which  would  rush  before  the  signal  was  given, 
and  had  to  be  brought  back  with  the  whip,  the  other  dogs 
looking  disgusted  meanwhile,  like  honourable  gentlemen  at  a 
cad  who  won't  play  fair.  Angelica,  shouting  and  laughing, 
made  as  much  noise  in  her  way  as  the  dogs  did  in  theirs,  and 
the  din  was  deafening;  an  exasperating  kind  of  din  too,  not 
incessant,  but  intermittent,  now  swelling  to  a  climax,  now 
lulling,  until  there  seemed  some  hope  that  it  would  cease  alto 
gether,  then  bursting  out  again,  whip  cracking,  dogs  howling 
and  barking,  feet  scampering,  Angelica  shrieking  worse  than 
ever 

Presently,  Mr.  Kilroy  appeared,  with  remonstrance  written 
on  every  line  of  his  countenance. 

"My  dear  Angelica,"  he  said,  unable  to  conceal  his  quite 
justifiable  annoyance.  "I  can  do  nothing  if  this  racket  con 
tinues.  And" — deprecatingly — "is  it — is  it  quite  seemly 
for  you ?'' 

"I  used  to  do  it  at  home,"  Angelica  answered. 

"But  you  are  not  at  home  now" — quick  as  light  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him  with  her  great  grieved  eyes.  "I  mean" — • 
he  grew  confused  in  his  haste  to  correct  himself—'  'of  course 
you  are  at  home — very  much  so  indeed,  you  know.  But  what 
I  want  to  say  is — as  the  mistress  of  a  large  establishment — 
dignity— setting  an  example,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't 
yon  see?" 

"None  of  the  servants  are  about  at  this  hour,"  Angelica 


TtfE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  473 

answered.  "It  is  their  dinner  time.  But  I  apologize  for  my 
thoughtlessness  if  I  have  disturbed  you."  She  smiled  up  at 
him  as  she  spoke,  and  poor  Mr.  Kilroy  retired  to  the  library 
quite  disarmed  by  her  gentleness,  and  blaming  himself  for  a 
selfish  brute  to  have  interfered  with  her  innocent  amusement. 
In  future,  he  determined,  he  would  make  more  allowance  for 
her  youth. 

Angelica,  meanwhile,  had  collected  her  dogs  and  disap 
peared.  But  presently  she  returned,  and  followed  Mr.  Kilroy 
to  the  library.  He  was  busy  writing,  and  she  went  and  stood 
in  the  window,  looking  idly  out  at  the  rain,  and  drumming — 
absently,  as  it  seemed — on  the  panes  with  ten  strong  fingers, 
till  he  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"My  dear  child!"  he  exclaimed  at  last,  "can't  you  get 
something  to  do?" 

Angelica  stopped  instantly.  If  her  thoughtlessness  was 
exasperating,  her  docility  was  exemplary.  But  she  seemed 
disheartened ;  then  she  seemed  to  consider;  then  she  bright 
ened  a  little;  then  she  got  some  letters,  sat  down,  and  began 
to  write — scratch,  scratch,  scratch,  squeak,  squeak,  squeak,  on 
rough  paper  with  a  quill  pen,  writing  in  furious  haste  at  a  table 
just  behind  her  husband.  Why  did  she  choose  the  library,  his 
own  private  sanctum,  for  the  purpose,  when  there  were  half  a 
dozen  other  rooms  at  least  where  she  might  have  been  quite  as 
comfortable?  Mr.  Kilroy  fidgeted  uneasily,  but  he  bore  this 
new  infliction  silently,  though  with  an  ever-increasing  sense  of 
irritation,  for  some  time.  Finally,  however,  an  exclamation 
of  impatience  slipped  from  him  unawares. 

"Do  I  worry  you  with  my  scribbling?"  Angelica  demanded 
with  hypocritical  concern.  "I'm  sorry.  But  I've  just  done," 
— and  she  went  away  with  some  half  dozen  notes  for  the  post. 

When  they  met  again  at  lunch  she  told  him  triumphantly 
that  she  had  refused  all  the  invitations  which  had  come  for  him 
since  his  arrival,  on  account  of  his  health.  She  had  told 
everybody  that  he  had  come  home  for  perfect  rest  and  quiet, 
which  he  much  needed  after  the  strain  of  his  parliamentary 
duties;  and  as  one  of  the  notes  at  least  would  be  read  at  a 
public  meeting  to  explain  his  absence  therefrom,  and  would 
afterward  appear  in  the  papers  probably,  she  had  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  go  anywhere  during  his  stay.  Mr.  Kilroy 
could  not  complain,  however,  for  had  he  not  himself  said  only 
last  night  that  he  was  suffering  from  the  effects  of  overwork, 
and  so  alarmed  her?  and  he  would  not  have  complained  in  any 


4"j6  THE  HEAVENLY 

case  when  he  saw  her  so  joyfully  triumphant  in  the  belief  that 
she  had  cleverly  eased  him  from  an  oppressing  number  of 
duties;  but  he  determined  to  pick  his  excuses  more  carefully 
another  time,  for  the  prospect  of  a  prolonged  tete-a-tete  with 
Angelica  in  her  present  humour  somewhat  appalled  his  peace- 
loving  soul,  and  the  thought  of  it  did  just  stir  him  sufficiently 
for  the  moment  to  cause  him  to  venture  to  suggest  that  in 
future  it  might  be  as  well  for  her  to  consult  him  before  she 
answered  for  him  in  any  matter.  Angelica  replied  with  an 
intelligent  nod  and  smile.  She  was  altogether  charming  in 
these  days  in  spite  of  her  perverseness,  and  Mr.  Kilroy,  while 
groaning  inwardly  at  her  irritating  tricks,  was  also  touched  and 
flattered  by  the  anxiety  she  displayed  for  his  comfort  and 
welfare. 

He  hoped  to  enjoy  a  quiet  cigar  and  a  book  after  luncheon, 
but  Angelica  had  another  notion  in  her  head.  She  went  to 
the  drawing  room,  opened  doors  and  windows,  sat  down  to  the 
piano,  and  began  to  sing — shakes,  scales,  intervals,  the  whole 
exercise  book  through  apparently  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
with  such  good  will  that  her  voice  resounded  throughout  the 
house.  She  had  eaten  nothing  since  breakfast  so  as  to  be  able 
to  produce  it  with  the  desired  effect,  and  there  was  no  escape 
from  the  sound.  But  poor  Mr.  Kilroy  did  not  like  to  interfere 
with  her  industry  as  he  had  done  with  her  idleness.  He  was 
afraid  he  had  shown  too  much  impatience  already  for  one  day, 
so  he  endured  this  further  trial  without  exhibiting  a  sign  of 
suffering;  but  after  an  hour  or  two  of  it,  he  found  himself  sigh 
ing  for  the  undisturbed  repose  of  his  house  in  town,  in  a  way 
that  would  have  satisfied  Angelica  had  she  known  it.  At  din 
ner  she  looked  very  nice,  but  she  did  not  talk  much.  Conver 
sation  was  not  Mr.  Kilroy's  strong  point,  but  he  was  good  at 
anecdotes,  and  now  he  racked  his  brains  for  something  new  to 
tell  her.  She  listened,  however,  without  seeming  to  see  the 
point  of  some,  and  others  caused  her  to  stare  at  him  in  wide- 
eyed  astonishment  as  if  shocked,  which  made  him  pause  awk 
wardly  to  consider,  half  fearing  to  find  some  impropriety 
which  his  coarser  masculine  mind  had  hitherto  failed  to  detect. 

This  caused  the  flow  of  reminiscences  to  languish,  and 
presently  to  cease.  Then  Angelica  began  to  make  bread  pills. 
She  set  them  in  a  row,  and  flipped  them  off  the  table  one  by 
one  deliberately  when  the  servants  left  the  room.  This 
amusement  ended,  she  pulled  flowers  to  pieces  between  the 
courses,  and  hummed  a  little  tune.  Mr.  Kilroy  fidgeted.  He 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWTNS.  477 

felt  as  if  he  had  been  saying  "Don't!"  ever  since  he  came 
home,  and  he  would  not  now  repeat  it,  but  the  self-repression 
disagreed  with  him,  and  so  did  his  dinner,  dyspepsia  having 
waited  on  appetite  in  lieu  of  digestion. 

After  dinner  Angelica  induced  him  to  go  with  her  to  the 
drawing  room,  and  when  she  had  got  him  comfortably  seated, 
and  had  given  him  his  coffee  and  a  paper,  and  just  peace 
enough  to  let  him  fall  into  a  pleasurably  drowsy  state,  accom 
panied  by  a  strong  disinclination  to  move,  she  began  to  pick 
out  the  "Dead  March"  in  "Saul"  and  kindred  melodies  with 
one  finger  on  the  piano.  Mr.  Kilroy  bore  this  infliction  also; 
but  when  she  brought  a  cookery  book  and  insisted  on  reading 
the  recipes  aloud,  he  went  to  bed  in  self-defence. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IF  the  first  and  second  days  at  home  were  failures  so  far  as 
Mr.  Kilroy 's  comfort  was  concerned,  the  third  was  as  bad,  if 
not  worse.  It  was  a  continual  case  of  "Please  don't!"  from 
morning  till  night,  and  Angelica  herself  was  touched  at  last  by 
the  kindly  nature  which  could  repeat  the  remonstrance  so  often 
and  so  patiently;  but  all  the  same  she  did  not  forbear.  All 
that  day,  however,  Mr.  Kilroy  made  every  allowance  for  her. 
Angelica  was  thoughtless,  very  thoughtless;  but  it  was  only 
natural  that  she  should  be  so,  considering  her  youth.  On  the 
next  day,  however,  it  did  occur  to  him  that  she  was  far  too 
exacting,  for  she  would  not  let  him  leave  her  for  a  moment  if 
she  could  help  it;  and  on  the  next  he  was  sufficiently  depressed 
to  acknowledge  that  Angelica  was  trying;  and  if  he  did  not 
actually  sigh  for  solitude,  he  felt,  at  all  events,  that  it  would 
cost  him  no  effort  to  resign  himself  to  it  if  she  should  again 
prove  refractory  and  refuse  to  go  back  with  him — and  Angelica 
knew  that  he  had  arrived  at  this  state  just  as  well  as  if  he  had 
told  her;  but  still  she  was  far  from  content.  She  wanted  him 
to  go,  and  she  wanted  him  to  stay — she  did  not  know  what  she 
wanted.  She  teased  him  with  as  much  zeal  as  at  first,  but  the 
amusement  had  ceased  to  distract  her  in  the  least  degree.  It 
had  become  quite  a  business  now,  and  she  only  kept  it  up 
because  she  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  do.  She  was  con 
scious  of  some  change  in  herself,  conscious  of  a  racking  spirit 
of  discontent  which  tormented  her,  and  of  the  fact  that,  in 
spite  of  her  superabundant  vitality,  she  had  lost  all  zest  for 


478  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

anything.  Outwardly,  and  also  as  a  matter  of  habit,  when  she 
was  with  anybody  who  might  have  noticed  a  change,  she  main 
tained  the  dignity  of  demeanour  which  she  had  begun  to  culti 
vate  in  society  upon  her  marriage;  but  inwardly  she  raged — 
raged  at  herself,  at  everybody,  at  everything;  and  this  mood 
again  was  varied  by  two  others,  one  of  unnatural  quiescence, 
the  other  of  feverish  restlessness.  In  the  one  she  would  sit 
for  hours  at  a  time,  doing  nothing,  not  even  pretending  to 
occupy  herself;  in  the  other,  she  would  wander  aimlessly  up 
and  down,  would  walk  about  the  room,  and  look  at  the  pictures 
without  seeing  them,  or  go  upstairs  for  nothing  and  come  down 
again  without  perceiving  the  folly  of  it  all.  And  she  was  for 
ever  thinking.  Diavolo  was  at  Sandhurst — if  only  he  had  been 
at  Ilverthorpe!  She  might  have  talked  to  him.  She  tried  the 
effect  of  a  letter  full  of  allusions  which  should  have  aroused  his 
curiosity  if  not  his  sympathetic  interest,  but  he  made  no  remark 
about  these  in  his  reply,  and  only  wrote  about  himself  and  his 
pranks,  which  seemed  intolerably  childish  and  stupid  to  Angel 
ica  in  her  present  mood ;  and  about  his  objection  to  early 
rising  and  regular  hours,  all  of  which  she  knew,  so  that  the 
repetition  only  irritated  her.  She  considered  Mr.  Kilroy 
obtuse,  and  thought  bitterly  that  anyone  with  a  scrap  of  intel 
ligent  interest  in  her  must  have  noticed  that  she  had  something 
on  her  mind,  and  won  her  confidence. 

This  reflection  occurred  to  her  in  the  drawing  room  one 
night  after  dinner,  and  immediately  afterward  she  caught  him 
looking  at  her  with  a  grave  intensity  which  should  have 
puzzled  her  if  it  did  not  strike  her  as  significant  of  some  deeper 
feeling  than  that  to  which  the  carnal  admiration  for  her  person 
which  she  expected  and  despised,  would  have  given  rise;  but 
she  was  too  self-absorbed  to  be  more  observant  than  she  gave 
him  the  credit  of  being. 

The  result  of  Mr.  Kilroy 's  observation  was  an  effort  to  take 
her  out  of  herself.  He  began  by  asking  her  to  play  to  him. 
Not  very  graciously,  she  got  out  a  violin,  remarking  that  she 
was  sorry  it  was  not  her  best  one. 

"Where  is  your  best  one?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  not  at  home,"  she  answered.  "I  left  it  with  Israfil, 
my  fair-haired  friend,  you  know."  She  spoke  slowly,  holding 
the  end  of  the  violin,  and  tightening  the  strings  as  she  did  so, 
the  effort  causing  her  to  compress  her  lips  so  that  the  words 
were  uttered  disjointedly;  and  as  she  finished  speaking,  she 
raised  the  instrument  to  her  shoulder  and  her  eyes  to  Mr.  Kil- 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  479 

roy's  face,  into  which  she  gazed  intently  as  she  drew  her  bow 
across  the  strings,  testing  them  as  to  whether  they  were  in  tune 
or  not,  and  seeming  rather  to  listen  than  to  look,  as  she  did  so. 
Mr.  Kilroy,  still  quietly  observing  her,  noticed  that  her  equa 
nimity  had  been  suddenly  restored;  but  whether  it  was  the 
mellow  tones  of  her  violin  or  some  happy  thought  that  had 
released  the  tension  he  could  not  tell.  It  was  as  much  relief, 
however,  to  him  to  see  her  brighten,  as  it  was  to  her  to  feel 
when  she  answered  him  that  a  great  weight  had  been  lifted  from 
her  mind,  and  she  would  now  be  able  "to  talk  it  out,"  this 
trouble  that  oppressed  her,  unrestrainedly,  as  was  natural  to  her. 

When  Mr.  Kilroy  accepted  the  terms  upon  which  she  pro 
posed  to  marry  him,  namely,  that  he  should  let  her  do  as  she 
liked,  she  had  voluntarily  promised  to  tell  him  everything  she 
did,  and  she  had  kept  her  word  as  was  her  wont,  telling  him 
the  exact  truth  as  on  this  occasion,  but  mixing  it  up  with  so 
many  romances  that  he  never  knew  which  was  which.  He 
was  in  town  when  she  first  met  the  Tenor,  but  when  he 
returned,  she  told  him  all  that  had  happened,  and  continued 
the  story  from  time  to  time  as  the  various  episodes  occurred, 
making  it  extremely  interesting,  and  also  almost  picturesque. 
Mr.  Kilroy  knew  the  Tenor  by  reputation,  of  course,  and  was 
much  entertained  by  what  he  believed  to  be  the  romance  which 
Angelica  was  weaving  about  his  interesting  personality.  He 
suggested  that  she  should  write  it  just  as  she  told  it.  "I  have 
not  seen  anything  like  it  anywhere, "  he  said;  "nothing  half 
so  lifelike." 

"Oh,  but  then,  you  see,  this  is  all  true"  she  gravely  insisted. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  he  answered,  smiling.  And  now  when 
she  answered  that  she  had  left  her  best  violin  with  the  Tenor, 
it  reminded  him:  "By  the  by,  yes,"  he  said.  "How  does  the 
story  progress?  I  was  thinking  about  it  in  the  train  on  my 
way  home,  but  I  forgot  to  ask  you — other  things  have  put  it 
out  of  my  head  since  I  arrived." 

"And  out  of  mine,  too,"  said  Angelica  thoughtfully — "at 
least  I  forgot  to  tell  you — which  is  extraordinary,  by  the  way, 
for  matters  are  now  so  complicated  between  us  that  I  can  think 
of  nothing  else.  It  will  be  quite  a  relief  to  discuss  the  subject 
with  you." 

She  drew  up  a  little  chair  and  sat  down  opposite  to  him, 
with  her  violin  across  her  knee,  and  began  immediately,  and 
with  great  earnestness,  looking  up  at  him  as  she  spoke.  She 
described  all  that  had  happened  on  that  last  sad  occasion 


480  TtfM  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

minutely — the  row  down  the  river,  the  moonrise,  the  music, 
the  accident,  the  rescue,  the  discovery,  and  its  effect  upon  the 
Tenor ;  and  all  with  her  accustomed  picturesqueness,  speaking 
in  the  first  person  singular,  and  with  such  force  and  fluency 
that  Mr.  Kilroy  was  completely  carried  away,  and  declared,  as 
on  previous  occasions,  that  she  set  the  whole  thing  before  him 
so  vividly  he  found  it  impossible  not  to  believe  every  word  of  it. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  he  asked  with  his 
indulgent  smile,  when  she  had  told  him  all  that  there  was  to 
tell  at  present.  "You  cannot  end  it  there,  you  know,  it  would 
be  such  a  lame  conclusion." 

"That  was  just  what  I  thought,"  she  answered,  "and  I 
wanted  to  ask  you.  As  a  man  of  the  world,  what  would  you 
advise  me  to  do?" 

"Well,"  he  began — then  he  rose  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
help  her  up  from  her  little  chair.  "Will  you  come  out  and 
sit  on  the  terrace,"  he  said,  "and  allow  me  to  smoke?  The 
night  is  warm." 

Anelica  nodded,  and  preceded  him  through  one  of  the  open 
windows. 

"Well,"  Mr.  Kilroy  resumed,  when  he  had  lit  his  cigar,  and 
settled  himself  in  a  cane  chair  comfortably,  with  Angelica  in 
another  opposite.  "What  a  lovely  night  it  is  after  the  rain 
yes'terday" — this  by  way  of  parenthesis.  "Rather  close, 
though,"  he  observed,  and  then  he  returned  to  the  subject. 
"I  suppose  you  mean  that  you  do  not  want  it  to  be  all  over 
between  you?" 

"Between  the  Tenor  and  the  Boy"  she  corrected.  "The 
whole  charm  of  the  acquaintance,  don't  you  see,  for  me,  con 
sisted  in  that  footing — I  don't  know  how  to  express  it,  but 
perhaps  you  can  grasp  what  I  mean." 

Mr.  Kilroy  reflected.  "I  am  afraid,"  he  said  at  last,  "that 
footing  cannot  be  resumed.  The  influences  of  sex,  once  the 
difference  is  recognized,  are  involuntary.  But,  if  he  has  no 
objection,  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not  be  friends,  and 
intimate  friends  too;  and  with  that  sort  of  man  you  might 
make  some  advance,  especially  as  you  are  entirely  in  the  wrong. 
I  am  not  saying,  you  know,  that  this  would  be  the  proper  thing 
to  do  as  a  rule;  but  here  are  exceptional  circumstances,  and 
here  is  an  exceptional  man." 

"Now,  that  is  significant,"  said  Angelica,  jeering.  "Soci 
ety  is  so  demoralized  that  if  a  man  is  caught  conducting  him 
self  with  decency  and  honour  on  all  occasions  when  a  woman 


L 

THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  48t 

is  in  question,  you  involuntarily  exclaim  that  he  is  an  excep 
tional  man!" 

Mr.  Kilroy  smoked  on  in  silence  for  some  time  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  quiet  stars.  His  attitude  expressed  nothing  but 
extreme  quiescence,  yet  Angelica  felt  reproved. 

"Don't  snub  me,  Daddy,"  she  exclaimed  at  last.  "I  came 
to  you  in  my  difficulty,  and  you  do  not  seem  to  care." 

Mr.  Kilroy  looked  at  his  cigar,  and  flicked  the  ash  from  the 
end  of  it. 

"Tell  me  how  to  get  out  of  this  horrid  dilemma,"  Angelica 
pursued.  "I  shall  never  know  a  moment's  peace  until  we 
have  resumed  our  acquaintance  on  a  different  footing,  and  I 
have  been  able  to  make  him  some  reparation." 

"Ah — reparation?"  said  Mr.  Kilroy  dubiously. 

"Do  you  think  it  is  impossible?"  Angelica  demanded. 

"Not  impossible,  perhaps,  but  very  difficult,"  he  answered. 
"Really,  Angelica,"  he  broke  off  laughingly,  "T  quite  forget 
every  now  and  again  that  we  are  romancing.  You  must  write 
this  story  for  me." 

"We  are  not  romancing,"  she  said  impatiently,  "and  I 
couldn't  write  it,  it  is  too  painful.  Besides,  we  don't  seem  to 
get  any  further." 

"Let  me  see  where  we  were?"  Mr.  Kilroy  replied,  humour 
ing  her  good-naturedly.  "It  is  a  pity  you  cannot  unmarry 
yourself.  You  see,  being  married  complicates  matters  to  a 
much  greater  extent  than  if  you  had  been  single.  A  girl  might, 
under  certain  circumstances,  be  forgiven  for  an  escapade  of 
the  kind,  but  when  a  married  woman  does  such  a  thing  it  is 
very  different.  Still,  if  you  can  get  well  out  of  it,  of  course 
the  difficulty  will  make  the  denouement  all  the  more  interesting." 

"But  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  get  well  out  of  it — unless  you 
will  go  to  him  yourself,  and  tell  him  you  know  the  whole 
story,  and  do  whatever  your  tact  and  goodness  suggest  to  set 
the  matter  right."  She  bent  forward  with  her  arms  folded  on 
her  lap,  looking  up  at  him  eagerly  as  she  spoke,  and  beating  a 
"devil's  tattoo,"  with  her  slender  feet,  on  the  ground  impa 
tiently  the  while. 

"No,"  he  answered  deliberately,  "that  would  not  be  natural. 
You  see,  either  you  must  be  objectionable  or  your  husband 
must;  and  upon  the  whole  I  think  you  had  better  sacrifice  the 
husband,  otherwise  you  lose  your  readers'  sympathy." 

"Make  you  objectionable,  Daddy!"  Angelica  exclaimed. 
"The  thing  is  not  to  be  done!  I  could  never  have  asked  you 


482  THE  HEAVENLY  TWltfS. 

to  marry  me  if  you  had  been  objectionable.  And  I  don't  see 
why  I  should  be  so  either — entirely,  you  know.  If  I  had  been 
quite  horrid,  I  should  not  have  appreciated  you,  and  the  Tenor 
and  Uncle  Dawne  and  Dr.  Galbraith — oh,  dear!  Why  is  it, 
when  good  men  are  so  scarce,  that  I  should  know  so  many, 
and  yet  be  tormented  with  the  further  knowledge  that  you  are 
all  exceptional,  and  crime  and  misery  continue  because  it  is 
so?  What  is  the  use  of  knowing  when  one  can  do  nothing?" 

Again  Mr.  Kilroy  looked  up  at  the  quiet  stars;  but  Angelica 
gave  him  no  time  to  reflect. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  severely  consistent,"  she  said. 
"Let  me  be  a  mixture — not  a  foul  mixture,  but  one  of  those 
which  eventually  result  in  something  agreeable,  after  going 
through  a  period  of  fermentation,  during  which  they  throw  up 
an  unpleasant  scum  that  has  to  be  removed." 

"That  would  do,"  Mr.  Kilroy  responded  gravely. 

"But  just  now,"  Angelica  resumed,  "it  seems  as  if  I  should 
be  obliged  to  let  matters  take  their  course  and  do  nothing, 
which  is  intolerable." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  do  something,"  Mr.  Kilroy  decided; 
"and  the  first  thing  will  be  to  go  to  him." 

"Go  to  him!"  she  ejaculated. 

"Well,  yes,"  he  rejoined.  "Naturally  you  will  feel  it. 
Now  that  you  are  no  longer  The  Boy  made  courageous  by  his 
unsuspicious  confidence — I  mean  the  Tenor's— it  is  quite 
proper  for  you  to  be  shy  and  ashamed  of  yourself.  As  a 
woman,  of  course,  you  are  not  wanting  in  modesty.  But 
there  is  no  help  for  it;  he  would  never  come  to  you,  so  you 
must  go  to  him.  I  quite  think  that  you  owe  him  any  repara 
tion  you  can  make.  And,  knowing  the  sort  of  man  he  is — you 
have  made  his  character  well  known  in  the  place,  have 
you  not?" 

Angelica  nodded.  "Well,  then,  a  visit  from  a  lady  of  your 
rank  will  create  no  scandal,  nor  even  cause  any  surprise,  I 
should  think,  if  you  go  quite  openly;  for  you  are  known  to  be 
a  musician,  and  might  therefore  reasonably  be  supposed  to 
have  business  with  one  of  the  profession.  I  wish,  by-the-bye, 
you  had  made  him  an  ugly  man,  with  kind  eyes,  you  know;  it 
would  have  been  more  original,  I  think.  But  you  will  find 
out  who  he  is,  of  course?" 

"No.  I  hardly  think  so!"  Angelica  answered.  "But  you 
would  advise  me  to  go  to  him?" — this  by  way  of  bringing  him 
back  to  the  subject. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  483 

"Yes'* — with  a  vigorous  attempt  to  draw  his  cigar  to  life 
again,  it  having  gone  all  but  out — "I  should  advise  you  to  go 
to  him  boldly,  by  day,  of  course ;  and  just  make  him  forgive 
you.  Insist  on  it;  you  will  find  he  cannot  resist  you.  Then 
you  will  start  afresh  on  a  new  footing  as  you  wish,  and  the 
whole  thing  will  end  happily." 

"You  forget  though,  he  did  forgive  me." 

"There  are  various  kinds  of  forgiveness,"  Mr.  Kilroy 
replied.  "There  is  the  forgiveness  that  washes  its  hands  of 
the  culprit  and  refuses  to  be  further  troubled  on  his  behalf— 
the  least  estimable  form  of  forgiveness;  and  there  is  that  which 
proves  itself  sincere  by  the  effort  which  is  afterward  made  to 
help  the  penitent,  that  is  the  kind  of  forgiveness  you  should 
try  to  secure." 

"But  somehow  it  stiJl  seems  unfinished,"  Angelica  grumbled. 

"If  you  had  been  single  now,"  Mr.  Kilroy  suggested,  "you 
would,  in  the  natural  course  of  events,  have  married  the 
Tenor." 

"Oh,    no!"    Angelica   vigorously   interposed.      "I    should 
never  have  wanted  to  marry  him.     Can't  I  make  you  under 
stand?     The  side  of  my  nature  which  I  turned  to  him  as  The  :>$- 
Boy  is  the  only  one  he  has  touched,  and  I  could  never  care  for  ^f^( 
him  in  any  other  relation." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  Mr.  Kilroy  observed  thoughtfully. 
"It  may  be  so,  of  course,  but  it  is  unusual." 

"And  so  am  I  unusual,"  Angelica  answered  quickly;  "but 
there  will  be  plenty  more  like  me  by  and  by.  Now  don't  look 
'Heaven  forbid!'  at  me  in  that  way." 

"That  was  not  in  the  least  what  I  intended  to  express,"  he 
answered  with  his  kindly  smile-indulgent.  "And  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  your,  own  idea  of  loving  him  without 
being  in  love  with  him  is  the  best;  it  is  so  much  less  common 
place.  But  what  do  you  think" — speaking  as  if  struck  by  a 
bright  idea — "what  do  you  think  of  putting  him  under  a  great 
obligation  which  will  bind  him  to  you  in  gratitude,  and  secure 
his  friendship?  You  might,  with  great  courage  and  devotion, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know,  find  out  all  about  him, 
prove  him  to  be  a  prince  or  something — the  heir  to  great 
estates  and  hereditary  privileges,  with  congenial  duties 
attached.  The  idea  is  not  exactly  new,  but  your  treatment  of 
it  would  be  sure  to  be  original " 

Angelica  interrupted  him  by  a  decisive  shake  of  her  head. 
"But  about  going  to  him?"  she  demanded — "you  do  not 


484  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

think,  speaking  as  a  man  of  the  world  yourself,  and  remem 
bering  that  he  knows  the  world  too  although  he  is  such  a  saint; 
you  do  not  think  such  a  proceeding  on  my  part  will  lower  me 
still  further  in  his  estimation?" 

"Well,  no,"  Mr.  Kilroy  replied.  "I  feel  quite  sure  it  will 
have  just  the  opposite  effect.  As  a  man  of  the  world  he  will 
know  what  it  has  cost  a  young  lady  like  you  to  humble  herself 
to  that  extent:  as  a  saint  he  will  appreciate  the  act,  looking  at 
it  in  the  light  of  a  penance,  which,  in  point  of  fact,  it  would 
be;  and  as  a  human  being  he  will  be  touched  by  your  confi 
dence  in  him,  and  the  value  you  set  upon  his  esteem.  So 
that,  altogether,  I  am  convinced  it  is  the  proper  thing  to  do." 

Angelica  made  no  reply,  but  got  up  languidly  after  a 
moment's  thought,  carefully  ruffled  his  hair  with  both  hands 
as  she  passed,  called  him  "Dear  old  Daddy!"  and  retired. 

Mr.  Kilroy  did  not  like  to  have  his  hair  ruffled  in  that  way, 
particularly  as  he  was  apt  to  forget,  and  appear  in  public  with 
it  all  standing  up  on  end;  but  he  bore  the  infliction  as  it  was 
intended  for  a  caress.  Angelica's  caresses  always  took  some 
such  form;  she  assured  him  he  would  like  them  in  time,  and 
he  sincerely  hoped  he  might,  but  the  time  had  not  yet  arrived. 

The  following  evening  they  were  again  in  the  drawing  room 
together.  Mr.  Kilroy  was  reading  the  papers,  Angelica  was 
sitting  with  her  hands  before  her  doing  nothing — not  even 
listening,  though  she  affected  to  do  so,  when  he  read  aloud 
such  news  as  he  thought  would  interest  her.  The  week  was 
nearly  over,  and  nothing  more  had  been  said  about  her  return 
to  town.  She  was  just  wondering  now  if  Mr.  Kilroy  had 
found  the  week  a  long  one.  She  had  given  him  more  than 
enough  of  her  company  and  made  him  feel — at  least  so  she 
hoped,  slipping  back  to  the  mood  in  which  he  had  found  her 
upon  his  arrival — made  him  feel  how  pleasant  a  thing  it  is  to 
dwell  alone  in  your  own  house  with  no  one  to  trouble  you; 
and  she  quite  expected  to  find,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  that 
he  would  cheerfully  take  no  for  an  answer. 

Presently  she  rose,  went  to  a  mirror  that  was  let  into  the 
wall,  and  looked  at  herself  critically  for  some  seconds. 

"Should  you  think  it  possible  for  anybody  to  fall  so  hope 
lessly  in  love  with  my  appearance  that,  when  love  was  found 
to  be  out  of  the  question,  friendship  would  also  be  impossible?" 
she  demanded  in  a  tone  of  contempt  for  herself,  turning  half 
round  from  the  mirror  to  look  at  Mr.  Kilroy  as  she  spoke. 

Mr.  Kilroy  glanced  at  her  over  his  pince-nez.     That  same 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  485 

appearance  which  she  disliked  to  be  valued  for  was  a  never- 
failing  source  of  pleasure  to  him,  but  he  took  good  care  to 
conceal  the  fact.  On  this  occasion,  however,  he  fell  into  the 
natural  mistake  of  supposing  that  she  was  coquettishly  trying 
to  extricate  a  compliment  from  him  for  once,  an  amusing 
feminine  device  to  which  she  seldom  condescended. 

"Well,  I  should  think  it  extremely  probable,"  he  replied— 
"if  he  were  not  already  in  love  with  another  woman." 

"Or  an  idea?"  Angelica  suggested  with  a  yawn;  and  Mr. 
Kilroy,  perceiving  that  he  had  somehow  missed  the  point,  took 
up  his  paper,  and  finished  the  paragraph  he  had  been  reading. 
Then  he  said,  looking  up  at  her  again  with  admiring  eyes:  "I 
do  not  think  I  quite  like  that  red  frock  of  yours.  It  seems  to 
me  that  it  is  making  you  look  alarmingly  pale." 

Angelica  returned  to  the  mirror,  and  once  more  looked  at 
herself  deliberately.  "Perhaps  it  does,"  she  answered;  "but 
at  any  rate  you  shall  not  see  it  again."  And  having  spoken 
she  sauntered  out  on  to  the  terrace  with  a  listless  step,  and 
from  thence  she  wandered  off  into  the  gardens,  where  the  scent 
of  roses  set  her  thinking,  thinking,  thinking.  She  sought  to 
change  the  direction  of  her  thoughts,  but  vainly;  they  would 
go  on  in  spite  of  her,  and  they  were  always  busy  with  the  same 
subject,  always  working  at  the  one  idea.  Israfil!  Israfil! 
There  was  nobody  like  him,  and  how  badly  she  had  treated 
him,  and  how  good  he  had  always  been  to  her,  and  how  could 
she  go  on  day  after  day  like  this  with  no  hope  of  ever  seeing 
him  again  in  the  old  delightful  intimate  way?  and  oh!  if  she 
had  not  done  this!  and  oh!  if  she  had  not  done  that!  It 
might  all  have  been  so  different  if  only  she  had  been  different; 
but  now  how  could  it  come  right?  A  hopeless,  hopeless, 
hopeless  case.  She  had  lost  his  respect  forever.  And  not  to 
be  respected!  A  woman  and  not  respected! 

She  went  down  to  the  lodge  gate  where  they  had  parted,  and 
remembered  the  chill  misery  of  the  moment,  the  gray  morning 
light,  the  pelting  rain.  Ah — with  a  sudden  pang — she  only 
thought  of  it  now.  How  wet  he  must  have  been !  He  had 
lent  her  his  one  umbrella,  and  she  had  kept  it;  she  had  it  still; 
she  had  allowed  him  to  walk  back  in  the  rain  without  wrap  or 
protection  of  any  kind. 

And  now  she  came  to  think  of  it,  he  had  never  changed  his 
things  after  he  had  rescued  her.  He  never  did  think  of  him 
self — the  most  selfless  man  alive;  and  she,  alas!  had  never 
thought  of  him — never  considered  his  comfort  in  anything. 


4^6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Oh,  remorse!  If  only  she  could  have  those  times  all  over 
again,  or  even  one  of  those  times  so  recklessly  misspent!  He 
might  have  lost  his  life  through  that  wetting.  Or  what  if  he 
lost  his  voice?  Singers  have  notoriously  delicate  throats. 
But  happily  nothing  so  untoward  had  resulted ;  she  was  saved  the 
blame  of  a  crowning  disaster — she  knew,  because  she  had  heard 
of  him  going  to  the  cathedral  as  usual;  she  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  inquire,  not  daring  to  go  herself,  and  she  had  seen 
in  that  day's  paper  that  he  would  sing  the  anthem  to-morrow, 
so  evidently  he  had  not  suffered,  which  was  some  comfort — 
and  yet — how  could  he  go  to  the  cathedral  every  day  and  sing 
as  usual,  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened?  It  might  be  forti 
tude,  but,  considering  the  circumstances,  it  was  far  more  likely 
to  be  indifference.  And  so  she  continued  to  torment  herself; 
thinking,  always  thinking,  without  any  power  to  stop. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Kilrov  returned  to  town  alone.  He  had 
only  once  again  alluded  to  his  wish  that  she  should  accompany 
him,  and  that  he  did  quite  casually,  for  she  had  succeeded  in 
making  him  content  that  she  should  refuse.  She  had  con 
vinced  him  that  her  exuberant  spirits  were  altogether  too  much 
for  him.  He  had  not  had  an  hour's  peace  since  his  arrival, 
though  the  place  would  have  held  a  regiment  comfortably;  and 
what  would  it  be  if  he  shut  her  up  in  London,  in  a  confined 
space  comparatively  speaking,  and  against  her  will  too?  He 
left  by  an  early  afternoon  train,  and  she  drove  to  the  station 
with  him  to  see  him  off.  She  had  enjoyed  his  visit  very  much 
— so  she  said — especially  the  last  part  of  it,  when  she  had 
surpassed  herself  in  ingenious  devices  to  exact  attention.  All 
that,  while  it  lasted,  really  had  distracted  her ;  but  the  occu 
pation  was  not  happiness — far  from  it!  It  was  a  sort  of 
intoxicant  rather,  which  made  her  oblivious  for  the  moment  of 
her  discontent.  At  every  pause,  however,  remorse  possessed 
her,  remorse  for  the  past;  yet  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  her 
present  misdemeanours  would  be  past  in  time,  and  might  also 
entail  consequences  which  would  in  turn  come  to  be  causes  of 
regret. 

But,  now,  when  she  had  succeeded  in  getting  rid  of  Mr.  Kil 
roy,  she  was  sorry.  She  stood  on  the  platform  watching  the 
train  until^  it  was  out  of  sight,  and  then  she  returned  to  her 
carriage  with  a  distinct  feeling  of  loss  and  pain.  What  should 
she  do  with  the  rest  of  the  day?  She  even  thought  of  the 
next,  and  the  next,  and  the  next;  a  long  vista  of  weary  days, 
through  which  she  must  live  alone  and  to  no  purpose,  a  waste 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  487 

of  life,  a  waste  of  life — a  barren  waste,  a  land  of  sand  and 
thorns.  She  wished  she  was  a  child  again  playing  pranks 
with  Diavolo;  and  she  also  wished  that  she  had  never  played 
pranks,  since  it  was  so  hard  to  break  herself  of  the  habit;  yet 
she  enjoyed  them  still,  and  assured  herself  that  she  was  only 
discontented  now  because  she  had  absolutely  nobody  left  to 
torment.  Then  she  tried  to  imagine  what  it  would  be  to  have 
Diavolo  with  her  in  her  present  mood,  and  instantly  a  squall 
of  conflicting  emotions  burst  in  her  breast,  angry  emotions  for 
the  most  part,  because  he  was  no  longer  with  her  in  either 
sense  of  the  word,  because  he  was  indifferent  to  all  that  con 
cerned  her  inmost  soul,  and  was  content  to  live  like  a  lady 
himself,  a  trivial  idle  life,  the  chief  business  of  which  was 
pleasure,  unremunerative  pleasure,  upon  which  he  would  have 
had  her  expend  her  highest  faculties  in  return  for  what? 
Admiring  glances  at  herself — and  her  gowns  per /ia#s  ! 

"But  what  should  she  do  with  the  rest  of  the  day?"  Her 
handsome  horses  were  prancing  through  Morningquest  as  she 
asked  herself  the  question;  and  there  was  a  little  milliner  on 
the  footway  looking  up  with  kindly  envy  at  the  lady  no  older 
than  herself,  sitting  alone  in  her  splendid  carriage  with  her 
coachman  and  footman  and  everything — nothing  to  do  in 
cluded,  very  much  included,  being,  in  fact,  the  principal 
item. 

"I  should  be  helping  her,"  thought  Angelica.  "She  is  ill- 
fed,  overworked,  and  weakly,  while  I  am  pampered  and 
strong;  but  there  is  no  rational  way  for  me  to  do  it.  If  I  took 
her  home  with  me  and  kept  her  in  luxurious  idleness  for  the 
rest  of  her  days,  as  I  could  very  well  afford  to  do,  I  should 
only  have  dragged  her  down  from  the  dignity  of  her  own 
honest  exertions  into  the  slough  of  self-indulgence  in  which  I 
find  myself,  and  made  bad  worse.  She  should  have  more  and 
/should  have  less ;  but  how  to  arrive  at  that?  Isolated  efforts 
seem  to  be  abortive — yet —  "  she  stopped  the  carriage,  and 
looked  back.  The  girl  had  disappeared.  She  desired  the 
coachman  to  return,  and  kept  him  driving  up  and  down  some 
time  in  the  hope  of  finding  her,  but  the  girl  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen,  nor  could  they  trace  her  upon  inquiry.  "Another 
opportunity  lost,"  thought  Angelica.  "A  few  pounds  in  her 
pocket  would  have  been  a  few  weeks'  rest  for  her,  a  few  good 
meals,  a  few  innocent  pleasures — she  would  have  been 
strengthened  and  refreshed;  and  I  should  have  been  the  better 
too  for  the  recollection  of  a  good  deed  done." 


488  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

The  carriage  had  pulled  up  close  to  the  curb,  and  the  foot- 
man  stood  at  the  door  waiting  for  orders. 

"What  is  there  to  do?"  thought  Angelica.  "Where  shall  I 
go?  Not  home.  The  house  is  empty.  Calls?  I  might  as 
well  waste  time  in  that  way  as  any  other."  She  gave  the 
order,  and  passed  the  next  two  hours  in  making  calls. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon,  she  found  herself  within 
about  a  mile  of  Hamilton  House,  and  determined  to  go  and 
see  her  mother.  There  was  no  real  confidence  between  them, 
but  Lady  Adeline's  presence  was  soothing,  and  Angelica 
thought  she  would  just  like  to  go  and  sit  in  the  same  room 
with  her,  have  tea  there,  and  not  be  worried  to  talk.  These 
peaceful  intentions  were  frustrated,  however,  by  the  presence 
of  some  visitors  who  were  there  when  she  arrived,  and  of 
others  who  came  pouring  in  afterward  in  such  numbers,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  the  whole  neighbourhood  meant  to  call  that  after 
noon.  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  was  making  tea,  and  talking  as 
usual  with  extreme  precision.  Angelica  found  him  seated  at 
a  small  but  solid  black  ebony  table,  with  a  massive  silver  tea- 
service  before  him.  He  folded  his  hands  when  she  entered, 
and,  without  rising,  awaited  the  erratic  kiss  which  it  was  her 
habit  to  deposit  somewhere  about  his  head  when  she  met  him; 
which  ceremony  concluded,  he  gravely  poured  her  out  a  cup 
of  tea,  with  sugar  and  milk,  but  no  cream,  as  he  observed; 
and  then  he  peeped  into  the  teapot,  and  proceeded  to  fill  it  up 
from  the  great  urn  which  was  bubbling  and  boiling  in  front  of 
him.  He  always  made  tea  in  his  own  house;  it  was  a  fad  of 
his,  and  the  more  people  he  had  to  make  it  for  the  better 
pleased  he  was.  A  servant  was  stationed  at  his  elbow,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  place  the  cups  as  his  master  filled  them  on  a 
silver  salver  held  by  another  servant,  who  took  them  to  offer 
to  the  visitors  who  were  seated  about  the  room.  Angelica 
knew  the  ceremony  well,  and  slipped  away  into  a  corner,  as 
soon  as  she  could  escape  from  her  father's  punctilious  inquiries 
about  her  own  health  and  her  husband's;  and  there  she  became 
wedged  by  degrees,  as  the  room  grew  gradually  crowded. 
Beside  her  was  a  mirror,  in  which  she  could  see  all  who  arrived 
and  all  that  happened,  and  involuntarily  she  became  a  silent 
spectator,  the  medium  of  the  mirror  imparting  a  curious  unre 
ality  to  the  scene,  which  invested  it  with  all  the  charm  of  a 
dream;  and,  as  in  a  dream,  she  looked  and  listened,  while 
clearly,  beneath  the  main  current  of  conversation,  and 
unbroken  by  the  restless  change  and  motion  of  the  people,  her 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  489 

own  thoughts  flowed  on  consciously  and  continuously.  Half 
turned  from  the  rest  of  the  room,  she  sat  at  a  table,  listlessly 
turning  the  leaves  of  an  album,  at  which  she  glanced  when  she 
was  not  looking  into  the  mirror. 

She  saw  the  party  from  Morne  enter  the  room— Aunt  Fulda 
and  her  eternal  calm!  She  looked  just  the  same  in  the 
market-place  at  Morningquest,  that  unlucky  night  when  the 
Tenor  met  the  Boy.  She  was  always  the  same.  Is  it  human 
to  be  always  the  same? 

"Who  is  that  lady?"  Angelica  heard  a  girl  ask  of  a  benevo 
lent  looking  elderly  clergyman  who  was  standing  with  his  back 
to  her.  "Oh,  that  is  Lady 'Fulda  Guthrie,  the  youngest 
daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Morningquest,"  he  replied.  'She  is 
a  Roman  Catholic,  a  pervert  as  we  say,  but  still  a  very  noble 
woman.  Religious,  too,  in  spite  of  the  errors  of  Rome,  one 
must  confess  it.  A  pity  she  ever  left  us,  a  great  pity — but  of 
course  her  loss  as  well  as  ours.  We  require  such  women  now, 
though;  but  somehow  we  do  not  keep  them.  And  I  cannot 
think  why." 

"Too  cold,"  Angelica's  thoughts  ran  on.  "Hollow, shallow, 
inconsistent — loveless.  Catholicism  equals  a  modern  refine 
ment  of  pagan  principles  with  all  the  old  deities  on  their  best 
behaviour  thrown  in ;  while  Protestantism  is  an  ecclesiastical 
system  founded  on  fetish " 

4  'You  are  a  stranger  in  the  neighbourhood?"  the  benevolent 
old  clergyman  was  saying.  "Only  on  a  visit?  Ah!  then  of 
course  you  don't  know.  They  are  a  remarkable  family,  some 
what  eccentric.  Ideala,  as  they  call  her,  is  no  relation,  only 
an  intimate  friend  of  Lady  Claudia  Beaumont's,  and  of  the 
Marquis  of  Dawne.  The  three  are  usually  together.  The 
New  Order  is  an  outcome  of  their  ideas,  a  sort  of  feminine 
vehmgericht  so  well  as  I  can  make  out.  But  no  good  can 
come  out  of  that  kind  of  thing,  and  I  trust  as  you  are  a  very 
young  lady " 

"Not  so  young — I  am  twenty-two." 

"Indeed!"  with  a  smile  and  a  bow — "I  should  not  have 
thought  you  more  than  nineteen.  ^  But  twenty-two  is  not  a 
great  age  either!  and  I  do  hope  you  will  not  be  drawn  into 
that  set.  They  are  sadly  misguided  The  ladies  scoff  at  the 
wisdom  of  men,  look  for  inconsistencies,  and  laugh  at  them — 
actually!  It  is  very  bad  taste,  you  know;  and  they  call  it  an 
impertinence  for  us  to  presume  to  legislate  exclusively  in 
matters  which  specially  concern  their  sex,  and  also  object  to 


490  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

the  interference  of  the  Church,  as  being  a  distinctly  masculine 
organization,  in  the  regulation  of  their  lives.  Men,  they 
declare,  have  always  said  that  they  do  not  understand  women, 
and  it  is  of  course  the  height  of  folly  for  them  to  presume  to 
express  opinions  upon  a  subject  they  do  not  understand. 
Now,  can  anything  be  more  absurd?  And  it  is  dangerous 
besides — absolutely  dangerous." 

"Yet  I  hear  that  they  are  very  good  women,"  the  girl  ven 
tured,  and  Angelica  thought  that  she  detected  a  note  of 
derision,  levelled  at  the  clerical  exponent  of  these  reprehen 
sible  ideas,  beneath  the  demure  remark. 

"Oh,  saintlike!"  he  answered  cordially;  Mbut  still  to  blame. 
Misguided,  you  know,  so  I  venture  to  warn  you.  How  can 
they  presume  to  reject  proper  direction?  Their  pride  is 
excessive,  but  the  Church  will  receive  them,  and  extend  her 

benefits  to  them  still  if  only  they  will  humble  themselves " 

Conversation  over  the  room  entered  upon  a  crescendo  passage 
at  this  moment,  and  Angelica  lost  the  rest  of  the  sentence  in 
the  general  outburst. 

A  new  voice  presently  claimed  her  attention.  The  speaker 
was  a  young  man  addressing  another  young  man,  and  both 
had  their  backs  turned  to  her,  and  were  looking  hard  at  a 
portrait  of  herself  hung  so  low  on  the  wall  that  they  had  to 
stoop  to  look  into  it. 

"Painted  by  a  good  man,"  were  the  first  words  she  heard. 

"Rather  fine  face;  who  is  it?" 

"Daughter  of  the  house,  don't  you  know?  Old  duke's 
granddaughter.  Married  old  Kilroy  of  Ilverthorpe." 

"Ah!     Then  that  was  done  some  time  ago,  I  expect." 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  Only  last  year.  It  was  exhibited  in  the 
last  Academy." 

"Then  she's  still  young?"  He  peered  into  the  portrait 
once  more  with  an  evident  increase  of  interest.  "She  looks 
as  if  she  might  be  larky." 

"Can't  make  her  out,  on  my  word,  was  the  response,  deliv 
ered  in  a  tone  of  strong  disapproval.  "Married  to  an  elderly 
chap — not  old  exactly,  but  a  good  twenty  years  older  than  her 
self;  who  gives  her  her  head  to  an  unlimited  extent,  yet  she 
says  she  doesn't  care  to  have  a  lot  of  men  bothering  about, 
and,  by  Jove!  she  acts  as  if  she  meant  it.  It's  beastly  unnat 
ural,  you  know." 

"Well,  I  must  say  I  like  a  woman  to  be  a  woman,"  the 
other  rejoined,  surveying  the  portrait  from  this  new  point  of 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  491 

view.  "But  that's  the  way  with  all  that  Guthrie  lot — and  you 
know  Dawne  himself  is/*'/" — so  what  can  you  expect  of  the 
rest?  the  tone  implied. 

Suddenly  Angelica  felt  her  face  flush.  One  of  her  ungov 
ernable  fits  of  fury  was  upon  her.  She  sprang  to  her  feet, 
upsetting  her  chair  with  a  crash,  and  turned  upon  the  two 
young  men,  who,  recognizing  her,  changed  colour  and  counte 
nance,  and  shrank  back  apologetically. 

Her  uncle,  seeing  something  wrong,  had  hurried  across  the 
room  to  her  with  anxious  eyes. 

"Who  are  those  people?"  she  asked  him,  indicating  the  two 
young  men. 

Lord  Dawne,  always  all  courtesy  and  consideration  himself, 
was  shocked  by  her  tone. 

"I  think  you  have  met  Captain  Leicester  before,"  he 
gravely  reminded  her.  "Let  me  introduce " 

"No,  for  Heaven's  sake!"  Angelica  broke  forth,  glaring 
angrily  at  the  offenders. 

She  walked  away  abruptly  with  the  words  on  her  lips,  leav 
ing  Lord  Dawne  to  settle  with  the  delinquents  as  he  thought 
fit.  Her  mother,  who  was  seated  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  talking  to  a  charming-looking  old  lady  Angelica  did  not 
know,  stretched  out  a  hand  to  her  as  she  approached,  and 
drew  her  to  a  seat  beside  her;  and  instantly  Angelica  felt  her 
self  in  another  moral  atmosphere. 

"This  is  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Kilroy  of  Ilverthorpe, "  Lady 
Adeline  said  to  the  old  lady,  then  added  smiling:  "There  are 
so  many  Mrs.  Kilroys  in  this  neighbourhood,  one  is  obliged  to 
specify.  Angelica,  dear,  Mrs.  Power." 

Angelica  bowed,  and  then  leaned  back  in  her  chair  so  that 
she  might  not  have  to  join  in  the  conversation,  but  she  listened 
in  an  absent  sort  of  way,  feeling  soothed  the  while  by  the  tone 
of  refinement,  of  earnestness  and  sincerity,  in  which  every 
word  was  uttered:  "No,  I  am  sure,"  Lady  Adeline  was  say 
ing,  "I  am  sure  no  one  who  can  judge  would  mistake  that 
lineless  calm  for  a  device  to  cover  all  emotion." 

"I  never  have  done  so  myself,"  Mrs.  Power  rejoined, 
"although  I  do  not  know  her  history.  But  I  should  say,  judg 
ing  merely  from  observation,  that  the  fineness  of  her  counte 
nance,  which  consists  more  in  the  expression  of  it  than  in  either 
form  or  feature,  though  both  are  good,  is  the  result  of  long 
self-repression,  self-denial,  and  stern  discipline,  the  evidence 
of  a  true  and  beautiful  soul,  and  of  a  noble  mind  at  rest  after 


492  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

some  heavy  sorrow,  or  some  great  temptation,  which,  being 
resisted,  has  proved  a  blessing  and  a  source  of  strength." 

Angelica  wondered  of  whom  they  were  speaking,  and,  fol 
lowing  the  direction  of  their  eyes,  met  those  of  Ideala  fixed  a 
little  sadly,  a  little  wistfully,  upon  herself.  Young  people,  as 
they  grow  up,  find  their  own  life's  history  so  absorbingly 
interesting  that  they  think  little  of  what  may  have  happened, 
or  may  be  happening,  to  those  whom  they  have  always  known 
as  "grown  up";  and  it  had  never  occurred  to  Angelica  that 
any  one  of  the  placid,  gentle-mannered  women  among  whom 
she  had  always  lived,  in  contrast  to  them  herself  as  a  comet  is 
to  the  fixed  stars,  had  ever  experienced  any  extremes  of  emo 
tion.  Now,  however,  she  felt  as  if  her  eyes  had  been  sud 
denly  opened,  and  she  looked  with  a  new  interest  at  her  old 
familiar  friends,  and  wondered,  her  mind  busy  for  the  moment 
with  what  she  had  just  heard.  She  could  not  keep  it  there, 
however;  involuntarily  it  slipped  away — back — back  to  that 
first  attempt  of  hers  to  see  the  hidden  wheels  of  life  go  round 
— the  market-place,  the  Tenor. 

Suddenly  she  felt  as  if  she  must  suffocate  if  she  did  not  get 
out  into  the  air,  and  rising  quickly  she  stole  from  the  room, 
and  out  of  the  house  unobserved.  But  the  babble  of  voices 
seemed  to  pursue  her.  She  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  steps 
and  felt  as  if  the  people  were  all  preparing  to  stream  out  of  the 
drawing  room  after  her,  to  surround  her,  and  keep  up  the 
distracting  buzz  in  her  ears  by  their  idle  inconsequent  talk. 
Their  horses  were  prancing  about  the  drive;  their  empty  car 
riages,  with  cushions  awry  and  wraps  flung  untidily  down  on 
the  seats,  or  even  hanging  over  the  doors  and  grazing  the 
dusty  wheels,  gave  her  a  sense  of  disorder  and  discomfort 
from  which  she  felt  she  must  fly. 

"Where  to,  ma'am,  please?"  the  footman  asked,  touching 
his  hat  when  he  had  closed  the  door. 

"Fountain  Towers,"  Angelica  answered.  She  would  go 
and  see  Dr.  Galbraith. 

When  the  carriage  drew  up  under  the  porch  at  Fountain 
Towers,  she  sat  some  time  as  if  unaware  of  the  fact;  but  the 
footman's  patient  face  as  he  waited  with  his  hand  on  the 
handle  of  the  door,  ready  to  help  her  to  descend,  recalled  her. 

She  walked  into  the  house  as  she  had  always  been  accus 
tomed  to  do,  and  instantly  thoughts  of  Diavolo  came  crowd 
ing.  Why  had  Diavolo  ceased  to  be  all  in  all  to  her?  She 
asked  herself  the  question  through  a  mist  of  tears  which  gath- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  493 

ered  in  her  eyes,  but  did  not  fall,  and  at  the  same  moment  her 
busy  mind  took  note  of  the  singular  appearance  of  a  statue  on 
the  staircase  as  she  beheld  it  in  blurred  outline  through  her 
bedimmed  vision. 

She  found  Dr.  Galbraith  in  the  library  sitting  at  his  writing 
table.  The  door  was  half  open,  so  she  entered  without 
knocking,  and  walked  up  to  him. 

He  turned  at  the  sound  of  her  step,  rose  smiling,  and  held 
out  his  hand  when  he  saw  who  it  was. 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  you  this  afternoon,"  he 
remarked.  "Sit  down."  But  before  she  had  settled  herself 
his  practised  eyes  had  detected  something  wrong.  '  'What  is 
it?"  he  asked. 

"Nerves,"  she  answered.     "Give  me  something." 

He  went  to  an  inner  room,  and  returned  presently  with  a 
colourless  draught  in  a  medicine  glass.  She  took  it  from  him 
and  drank  it  mechanically,  and  then  he  placed  a  cushion  for 
her,  and  she  leant  back  in  the  deep  armchair,  and  closed  her 
eyes.  Dr.  Galbraith  looked  at  her  for  a  few  seconds  seriously, 
and  then  returned  to  his  writing.  Presently  Lord  Dawne 
came  in,  and  raised  his  eyebrows  inquiringly  when  he  saw 
Angelica,  who  seemed  to  be  asleep. 

"Overwrought,"  Dr.  Galbraith  replied  to  the  silent  inquiry. 

"There  was  a  fracas  at  Hamilton  House  just  now,"  her 
uncle  observed.  "But  how  is  all  this  going  to  end?" 

"Well,  of  course;  but  you  had  better  leave  her  to  me." 

Lord  Dawne  quietly  withdrew. 

"Oh,  the  blessed  rest  and  peace  of  this  place!"  Angelica 
exclaimed  shortly  afterward. 

Dr.  Galbraith,  who  had  resumed  his  writing,  put  down  his 
pen  again,  and  turned  to  her. 

"Talk  to  me,"  she  said.  "I've  lost  my  self-respect.  I've 
lost  heart.  I'm  a  good-for-nothing  worthless  person.  How 
am  I  to  get  out  of  this  dreadful  groove?" 

"Live  for  others.  Live  openly,"  he  answered  slowly,  look 
ing  up  beyond  her — into  futurity— with  a  kindly  light  in  his 
deep  gray  eyes,  a  something  of  hope,  of  confidence,  of  encour 
agement  expressed  in  his  strong  plain  face. 

Angelica  bowed  her  head.  The  familiar  phrases  had  a  new 
significance  now,  and  diverted  the  stream  of  her  reflections 
into  another  channel.  She  folded  her  hands  on  Tier  lap  and 
sat  motionless  once  more,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

Pf.   Galbraith  was  a  specialist    in  mental   maladies.     He 


494  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

knew  exactly  how  much  to  say,  and  when  to  say  it.  If  a  text 
were  as  much  as  the  patient  required  or  could  bear,  he  never 
made  the  mistake  of  preaching  a  sermon  upon  it  in  addition ; 
and  so  for  the  third  time  he  took  up  his  pen  and  returned  to 
his  work,  leaving  Angelica  engaged  in  sober  thought,  and  hap 
pily  quiescent. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  was  late  when  at  last  she  went  home,  but  the  drive  of 
many  miles  in  the  fresh  evening  air  helped  to  revive  her. 
She  had  dreaded  the  return.  The  place  seemed  empty  to  her 
imagination,  and  strange  and  chill,  as  a  south  room  in  which 
we  have  sat  and  been  glad  with  friends  all  the  bright  morning 
does,  if  by  chance  we  return  alone  when  the  sun  has  departed. 

And  the  place  was  dismal.  There  was  no  one  to  welcome 
her.  Even  her  well-trained  servants  were  out  of  the  way  for 
once,  and  she  felt  her  heart  sink  as  she  crossed  the  deserted 
hall  to  go  upstairs,  and  saw  long  lines  of  doors,  shut  for  the 
most  part,  or,  if  open,  showing  big  rooms  beyond  silent  and 
tenantless.  As  she  passed  the  library  she  had  noticed  her 
husband's  chair  half  turned  from  his  writing  table,  just  as  he 
had  left  it,  probably,  that  very  morning.  It  seemed  a  long 
time  since  then.  He  must  have  come  to  his  journey's  end — 
ages  ago.  She  wondered  if  he  had  felt  it  as  dreary  on  arriving 
as  she  did  now,  and  an  unaccustomed  wish  to  be  with  him,  in 
order  to  make  things  pleasanter  for  him,  here  obtruded  itself. 
It  was  one  of  the  least  selfish  thoughts  she  had  had  lately,  and 
this  was  also  one  of  the  very  few  occasions  on  which  his  leav 
ing  her  had  not  occasioned  her  a  sense  of  liberty  restored, 
which  was  the  one  unmixed  delight  she  had  hitherto 
experienced. 

Her  mind  was  racked  by  inconsistencies,  but  she  did  not 
perceive  it  herself,  otherwise  she  must  also  have  observed  that 
she  was  running  up  the  whole  gamut  of  her  past  moods  and 
experiences,  only  to  find  how  unsatisfactory  in  its  unstableness 
and  futility  was  each.  And  she  might  still  further  have  per 
ceived  how  fatal  the  habit  of  living  from  day  to  day  without 
any  settled  purpose,  a  mere  cork  of  a  creature  on  the  waters  of 
life  at  the  mercy  of  every  current  of  impulse,  is  to  that  perma 
nent  content  to  which  a  steady  effort  to  do  right  at  all  events 
whatever  else  we  may  not  do,  and  right  only  whatever  happens, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  495 

alone  gives  rise,  making  thereof  a  sure  foundation  of  quiet 
happiness  out  of  which  countless  pleasures,  known  only  to 
those  who  possess  it,  spring  perceptibly — or  to  which  they 
come  like  butterflies  to  summer  flowers,  enriching  them  with 
their  beauty  and  vitality  while  they  stay,  and  leaving  them 
none  the  poorer  when  they  depart,  but  rather,  it  may  be,  gain 
ers,  by  the  fertilizing  memories  which  remain. 

Angelica  had  gone  to  her  room  to  dress  for  the  evening  as 
usual.  She  had  no  idea  of  shirking  the  ordinary  routine  of 
daily  life  because  her  mind  was  perturbed.  But  that  duty 
over,  she  descended  to  the  drawing  room  to  wait  until  dinner 
should  be  announced,  and  so  found  herself  alone  with  her 
own  thoughts  once  more.  She  went  to  one  of  the  fireplaces, 
and  stood  with  her  hands  folded  on  the  edge  of  the  mantel 
piece,  and  her  forehead  resting  on  them,  looking  down  at  the 
flowers  and  foliage  plants  which  concealed  the  grate. 

"You  cannot  go  on  like  this,  you  know,"  she  mentally 
ejaculated,  apostrophising  herself. 

Then  she  became  conscious  of  a  great  sense  of  loneliness, 
the  kind  of  loneliness  of  the  heart  from  which  there  is  no 
escape  except  in  the  presence  of  one  who  knows  what  the 
trouble  is  and  can  sympathize.  She  had  been  half  inclined  to 
confide  in  Dr.  Galbraith,  and  now  she  regretted  she  had  not, 
but  presently,  passing  into  a  contrary  mood,  she  was  glad; 
what  good  could  he  have  done?  And  as  for  her  husband,  an 
empty  house  was  better  than  a  bad  tenant.  This  was  before 
dinner  was  announced;  but  afterward,  at  dinner,  sitting  in 
solitary  state  with  the  servants  behind  her,  and  a  book  to 
keep  her  in  countenance,  she  made  a  grievance  of  his  absence, 
and  then  sighed  for  such  company  as  the  seven  more  who 
were  entertained  in  that  house  which  was  swept  and  garnished 
for  another  purpose,  she  fancied,  but  she  could  not  recollect 
what,  and  it  was  too  much  trouble  to  try — so  her  thoughts 
rambled  on  uncontrolled— only  she  believed  they  were  merry, 
and  that  was  what  she  was  not;  but  she  would  be  very  soon  in 
spite  of  everything — in  pursuance  of  which  resolve  she  wrote 
several  notes  after  dinner,  asking  people  she  knew  well  enough 
to  kindly  dispense  with  the  ceremony  of  a  long  invitation  and 
come  and  lunch  with  her  to-morrow;  and  she  dispatched  a 
groom  on  horseback  with  the  notes  that  there  might  be  no 
delay.  She  even  thought  of  making  up  a  house  party,  but 
here  her  interest  and  energy  flagged,  and  she  left  the  execu 
tion  of  that  project  till  next  day. 


496  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Then  she  relapsed  into  her  regretful  discontented  mood.  If 
only— if  only  that  wretched  accident  had  never  occurred,  how 
different  would  her  feelings  have  been  at  this  moment,  was  one 
of  her  reflections  as  she  sat  alone  on  the  terrace  outside  the 
great  deserted  reception  rooms.  She  would  have  been  waiting 
now  till  the  house  was  quiet,  and  then  she  would  have  dashed 
up  to  her  room  to  dress,  with  that  exquisite  sense  of  freedom 
which  made  the  whole  delight  of  the  thing,  and  in  half  an  hour 
she  might  have  been  the  Boy  with  Israfil. 

"You  cannot  go  on  like  this,  you  know,"  Angelica  repeated 
to  herself.  "You  must  do  something." 

But  what?  Involuntarily  her  mind  returned  to  the  Tenor. 
If  she  could  win  his  respect  she  felt  she  could  start  afresh  with 
a  clear  conscience  and  a  steadfast  determination  to — what  was 
it  Dr.  Galbraith  had  suggested?  "Live  openly.  Live  for 
others." 

But  how  to  win  the  Tenor  back  to  tolerate  her?  If  she 
would  make  him  her  friend  she  knew  that  she  must  be  entirely 
true — in  thought,  word,  and  deed;  to  every  duty,  to  every 
principle  of  right;  and  how  could  she  be  that  if  there  were  any 
truth  in  the  theory  of  hereditary  predisposition,  coming  as  she 
did  of  a  race  foredoomed  apparently  to  the  opposite  course?  It 
was  folly  to  contend  with  fate  when  fate  took  the  form  of  a  long 
line  of  ancestors  who  had  made  a  family  commandment  for  them 
selves,  which  was:  "Be  decent  to  all  seeming!  but  sin  all  the 
same  to  your  heart's  content,"  and  had  kept  it  courageously — at 
least  the  men  had — but  then  the  women  had  been  worthy — in 
which  thought  she  suddenly  perceived  that  there  was  food  for 
reflection ;  for  was  not  this  contradictious  fact  a  proof  that  it 
was  a  good  deal  a  matter  of  choice  after  all?  And  here  the 
Tenor's  parting  words  recurred  to  her,  and  with  them  came 
the  recollection  of  the  impression  made  at  the  moment  by  the 
deep  yet  diffident  tone  of  earnest  conviction  in  which  he  had 
uttered  that  last  assurance:  "You  will  do  some  good  in  the 
world — you  will  be  a  good  woman  yet,  I  know — I  know  you 
will." 

Should  she?  was  the  question  she  now  asked  herself.  Were 
the  words  prophetic?  she  wondered.  And  from  that  moment 
her  thoughts  took  a  new  departure,  and  she  was  able,  as  it 
were,  to  stand  aloof  and  look  back  at  herself  as  she  had  been, 
and  forward  to  herself  as  she  might  yet  become.  In  this  quiet 
hour  of  retrospect  she  was  quite  ready  to  confess  her  sins.  She 
was  sincerely  sorry  she  had  deceived  the  Tenor.  But  why  was 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  497 

she  sorry?  Why,  simply  because  he  had  found  her  out; 
simply  because  there  was  an  end  of  a  charming  adventure — 
though  less  on  that  account  than  on  others;  for  of  course  she 
knew  that  the  end  was  near,  that  they  must  have  parted  soon 
in  any  case.  It  was  the  manner  of  the  parting  that  caused  her 
such  regret.  She  had  lost  his  affection,  lost  his  confidence — 
lost  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance,  she  supposed,  which  was 
more  than  she  could  bear.  If  he  met  her  in  the  street  he 
would  probably  look  the  other  way.  Would  he?  Oh!  The 
very  notion  stung  her.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  threw  up 
her  hands ;  and  then,  as  if  goaded  by  a  lash,  but  without  any 
distinct  idea,  she  ran  down  the  steps  headlong  into  the  garden, 
and  so  on  through  the  park  till  she  came  to  the  river.  When 
she  got  there,  she  stopped  at  the  landing  place,  not  knowing 
why  she  had  come,  and  as  she  stood  there,  trying  to  collect 
her  thoughts,  the  absence  of  some  familiar  object  forced  itself 
upon  her  attention — her  boat!  It  must  have  been  lost  the 
night  of  the  accident.  She  did  not  know  whether  it  had  sunk 
or  not,  but  there  was  no  name  on  it,  so  that,  even  if  it  had 
been  found,  it  could  not  have  been  restored  to  her  unless  she 
had  claimed  it.  And  while  she  thought  this,  she  was  conscious 
of  another  pang  of  regret.  She  knew  that  had  the  boat  been 
there,  her  next  impulse  would  have  been  to  go  to  the  Tenor 
just  as  she  was,  bareheaded,  and  in  her  thin  evening  dress. 
With  what  object,  though?  To  beg  for  the  honour  of  his 
acquaintance,  she  supposed!  But,  alas!  she  could  not  sneer 
in  earnest,  or  laugh  in  earnest,  at  any  absurdity  she  chose  to 
think  there  was  in  the  idea.  For  she  acknowledged — in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  knew — that  the  acquaintance  of  such  a  man 
was  an  honour,  especially  to  her,  as  she  humbly  insisted, 
although  she  had  not  broken  any  of  the  commandments,  and 
never  would,  and  never  could. 

Slowly  she  returned  to  the  house.  A  servant  met  her  on  the 
terrace,  and  asked  her  if  she  should  require  anything  more 
that  night.  Then  she  discovered  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
ordered  the  household  to  bed,  and  retired  to  her  own  room. 
There  she  extinguished  the  lights,  threw  the  windows  wider 
open,  and  sat  looking  out  into  the  dim  mysterious  night. 

Angelica  loved  the  night.  No  matter  what  her  mood  might 
be  she  felt  its  charm,  and  something  also  of  the  pride-subduing, 
hallowed  influence  which  is  peculiarly  its  own;  and  now,  as  she 
leant,  looking  out,  all  the  beauty  of  it,  and  its  heavenly  purity, 
began  to  steal  into  her  heart  and  to  soften  it.  Slowly,  as  the 


498  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

tide  goes  out  when  the  sea  is  tempestuous,  the  waves  returning 
again  and  again  with  angry  burst  and  flow  to  cover  the  same 
spot,  as  if  loath  to  leave  it,  but  receding  inevitably  till  in  the 
further  distance  their  harsh  impetuous  roar  sinks  to  a  babble 
when  heard  from  the  place  where  they  lately  raged,  which 
itself  seems  the  safer  for  the  contrast  between  the  now  of  quiet 
and  firmness  and  the  then  of  shifting  sand  and  watery  fury;  so 
it  was  with  Angelica's  turmoil  of  mind,  the  foaming  discon 
tent,  the  battling  projects — by  slow  degrees,  they  all  subsided; 
and  after  the  storm  of  uncertainty  there  came  something  like 
the  calm  of  a  settled  purpose.  To  be  good,  to  ascend  to  the 
higher  life — if  that  meant  to  feel  like  this  always  she  would  be 
good — if  in  her  lay  such  power.  She  could  not  be  wholly 
without  religion,  because  she  found  in  herself  a  reverence  for 
what  was  religion  in  others.  And  what  after  all  is  religion? 
An  attitude  of  the  mind  which  develops  in  us  the  power  to 
love,  reverence,  and  practise  all  that  constitutes  moral  probity. 
But  how  to  attain  to  this?  By  trying  and  trusting.  Faith, 
that  was  it,  faith  in  the  power  of  goodness.  Upon  the  recog 
nition  of  this  simple  truth,  her  spirit  wings  unfurled,  and 
slowly,  as  her  senses  ceased  to  be  importunate,  she  became 
possessed  by  some  idea  of  deathless  love  and  longing  which 
fired  her  soul  with  its  heroism,  and  filled  her  heart  with  its 
pathos,  until  both  mind  and  hands  together  unconsciously 
assumed  the  attitude  of  prayer. 

She  did  not  go  to  bed  at  all  that  night,  but  just  sat  there 
by  the  open  window,  patiently  waiting  for  the  dawn.  Nor  did 
she  feel  the  time  long.  Her  whole  being  thrilled  to  this  new 
sensation  and  was  subdued  by  it,  so  that  she  remained  motion 
less  and  rapturously  absorbed.  It  might  only  last  till  daybreak; 
but  while  it  did  last,  it  was  certainly  intense. 

It  lasted  longer  than  that,  however.  It  even  survived  the 
day  and  the  luncheon  party  to  which  she  had  in  a  rash 
moment  invited  her  friends.  She  had  determined  to  go  to 
the  Tenor  that  very  afternoon  in  the  way  her  husband  had 
suggested. 

At  first  she  thought  she  would  drive,  but  it  was  a  long  way 
round  by  the  road,  much  longer  than  by  the  river,  and  so  she 
decided  to  walk,  although  the  weather  was  inclined  to  be 
tempestuous.  She  crossed  by  the  ferry,  thinking  she  would, 
if  possible,  meet  the  Tenor  as  he  came  away  from  the  after 
noon  service.  In  that  hope,  however,  she  was  disappointed, 
for  when  she  got  to  the  cathedral  she  found  the  service  over, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  499 

the  congregation  dispersed,  and  the  doors  locked.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  then  but  to  go  to  his  own  house.  With  a  fast 
beating  heart  she  crossed  the  road,  and  paused  at  the  little 
gate.  She  felt  now  that  she  had  made  a  mistake.  She  should 
have  taken  her  husband's  advice  and  come  in  state;  she  would 
not  have  felt  half  so  frightened  and  awkward  if  she  could  have 
sat  in  her  carriage,  and  sent  the  footman  to  inquire  if  the 
Tenor  would  do  her  the  favour  to  allow  her  to  speak  to  him  for 
a  moment.  And  what  would  he  say  to  her  now?  And  what 
should  she  say?  Suppose  he  refused  to  see  her  at  all,  should 
she  ever  survive  it?  Could  she  take  him  by  storm  as  the  Boy 
would  have  done,  and  demand  his  friendship  and  kind  consid 
eration  as  a  right?  Oh !  for  some  of  the  unblushing  assurance 
which  had  distinguished  the  Boy!  It  must  have  been  part  of 
the  costume.  But  surely  her  confidence  would  return  at  the 
right  moment,  and  then  she  would  be  able  to  face  him  boldly. 
Having  to  knock  at  the  door  and  ask  for  him  was  like  the  first 
plunge  into  cold  water.  Just  to  think  of  it  took  her  breath 
away.  But  the  window  was  doubtless  unfastened  as  usual; 
should  she  go  in  by  that?  No.  It  was  absurd,  though,  how 
she  hesitated,  especially  after  all  that  had  happened;  but  be 
deterred  by  this  most  novel  and  uncomfortable  shyness  she 
would  not !  She  had  come  so  far,  and  it  should  not  be  for 
nothing.  She  would  not  go  back  until 

But  now,  at  last,  with  a  smile  at  her  qualms  and  nervous 
tremors,  she  knocked  resolutely.  There  was  a  little  interval 
before  the  knock  was  answered,  and  she  filled  it  with  hope. 
She  knew  just  how  radiant  she  would  feel  as  she  came  away 
successful.  She  experienced  something  of  the  relief  and 
pleasure  which  should  follow  upon  this  pain,  and  then  the 
door  was  opened  by  the  Tenor's  elderly  housekeeper.  The 
woman  had  that  worn  and  worried  look  upon  her  face  which 
is  common  among  women  of  her  class. 

"Is  your  master  at  home?"  Angelica  asked,  not  recollecting 
for  the  moment  by  what  name  he  was  known. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  curiously,  as  if  to  determine  her 
social  status  before  she  committed  herself.  The  question 
seemed  to  surprise  her. 

4 'He's  gone,"  she  answered  dolefully.     "Didn't  you  know?" 

"Gone,"  Angelica  echoed  blankly.     "Where?" 

"Gone  home,"  the  woman  answered. 

"Gone  home!'  Angelica  exclaimed,  unable  to  conceal  her 
dismay.  "He  has  no  home  but  this.  Where  is  his  home?" 


joo  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

The  woman  gave  her  another  curious  look,  took  a  moment 
to  choose  her  words,  then  blurted  out:  "He's  dead,  miss — 
didn't  you  know— and  buried  yesterday." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  lonely  man,  after  leaving  Angelica  that  night,  had 
returned  to  the  Close,  walking  "like  one  that  hath  a  weary 
dream."  When  he  entered  his  little  house,  and  the  sitting 
room  where  the  lamp  was  still  burning,  its  yellow  light  in  sickly 
contrast  to  the  pale  twilight  of  the  summer  dawn  which  was 
beginning  to  brighten  by  that  time,  the  discomfort  consequent 
on  disorder  struck  a  chill  to  his  heart. 

The  roses  still  lay  scattered  about  the  floor,  but  they  had 
been  trampled  under  foot  and  their  beauty  had  suffered,  their 
freshness  was  marred,  and  their  perfume,  rising  acrid  from 
bruised  petals,  greeted  him  unwholesomely  after  the  fresh 
morning  air,  and  rendered  the  atmosphere  faint  and  oppres 
sive.  The  stand  with  the  flower  pots,  much  disarranged,  stood 
as  he  had  left  it  when  he  pulled  it  roughly  aside  to  get  at  the 
grate,  and  the  fire  had  burnt  out,  leaving  blackened  embers  to 
add  to  the  general  air  of  dreariness  and  desertion.  Angelica's 
violin  lay  under  the  grand  piano  where  he  had  heedlessly  flung 
it  when  he  loosed  it  from  her  rigid  grasp;  and  there  were 
pipes  and  glasses  and  bottles  about,  chairs  upset  and  dis 
placed;  books  and  papers,  music  and  magazines,  piled  up  in 
heaps  untidily  to  be  out  of  the  way — all  the  usual  signs,  to 
sum  up,  which  suggest  that  a  room  has  been  used  over  night 
for  some  unaccustomed  purpose,  convivial  or -the  reverse,  a 
condition  known  only  to  the  early  house-and-parlour  maid  as  a 
rule,  and  therefore  acting  with  peculiarly  dismal  effect  upon 
the  chance  observer;  but  more  dismal  now  to  the  weary  Tenor 
than  any  room  he  had  ever  seen  under  similar  circumstances 
by  reason  of  the  associations  that  clung  about  it. 

He  opened  the  window  wide,  extinguished  the  lamp,  and 
began  mechanically  to  put  things  away  and  arrange  the  chairs. 
The  habit  of  doing  much  for  himself  prompted  all  this;  any 
thing  that  was  not  a  matter  of  habit  he  never  thought  of  doing. 
His  things  were  drying  on  him,  and  he  had  forgotten  that  they 
had  ever  been  wet.  He  had  forgotten  too  that  the  night  was 
past  and  over.  He  was  heart  sick  and  weary,  yet  did  not  feel 
that  there  was  any  need  of  rest.  The  extraordinary  lucidity 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  501 

of  mind  of  which  he  had  been  conscious  while  his  much 
loved  "Boy"  was  in  danger  had  left  him  now,  and  only  a 
blurred  recollection  as  of  many  incidents  crowding  thickly 
upon  each  other  without  order  or  sequence  recurred  to  him. 
He  suffered  from  a  sense  of  loss,  from  an  overpowering  grief 
— the  kind  of  grief  which  is  all  the  worse  to  bear  because  it 
has  not  come  in  the  course  of  nature  but  by  the  fault  of  man, 
a  something  that  might  have  been  helped  as  when  a  friend  is 
killed  by  accident,  or  lost  to  us  otherwise  than  by  death  the 
consequence  of  disease.  But  one  persistent  thought  beset 
him,  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again,  exhausting  him  by 
dint  of  forced  reiteration.  The  girl  he  had  been  idolizing — 
well,  there  was  no  such  person,  and  there  never  had  been; 
that  was  all — yet  what  an  all!  In  the  first  moment  of  the 
terrible  calamity  that  had  befallen  him,  it  seemed  now  that 
there  could  have  been  nothing  like  the  misery  of  this  home 
returning — the  barren,  black  despair  of  it.  It  was  the  hope 
less  difference  between  pain  and  paralysis;  then  he  had  suf 
fered,  but  at  least  he  could  feel;  now  he  felt  nothing  except 
that  all  feeling  was  over. 

When  he  had  finished  the  simple  arrangement  of  his  room, 
he  still  paced  restlessly  up  and  down,  shaking  back  his  yellow 
hair,  and  brushing  his  hand  up  over  it  as  if  the  gesture  eased 
the  trouble  of  his  mind. 

"If  even  the  Boy  had  been  left  me!"  he  thought,  and  it 
was  the  one  distinct  regret  he  formulated. 

After  a  while  his  housekeeper  arrived,  a  pleasant  elderly 
woman  who  had  attended  him  ever  since  he  came  to  Morning- 
quest. 

It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  let  any  personal  matter,  whether 
it  were  pain  or  pleasure,  affect  the  temper  of  his  intercourse 
with  those  about  him,  and  the  force  of  habit  helped  him  now 
again  to  rouse  himself  and  greet  the  woman  in  his  usual  kindly, 
courteous  way,  so  that,  being  unobservant,  she  noticed  no 
change  in  him  except  that  he  was  up  earlier  than  usual ;  but 
then  he  was  always  an  early  riser.  She  therefore  set  about  her 
work  unsuspiciously,  and  presently  drove  him  out  of  the  sitting 
room  with  her  dust-pan  and  brush,  and  he  went  upstairs. 
There,  happening  to  catch  a  glimpse  of"  his  own  haggard  face 
and  discreditable  flannels  in  the  mirror,  he  began  to  change 
mechanically,  and  dressed  himself  with  all  his  habitual  neat 
ness  and  precision.  Then  a  little  choir  boy  came  to  be 
helped  with  his  music.  It  was  the  one  who  sang  the  soprano 


$02  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

solos  in  the  cathedral,  a  boy  with  a  lovely  voice  and  much 
general  as  well  as  musical  ability,  both  of  which  the  Tenor 
laboured  to  help  him  to  develop.  He  came  every  morning  for 
lessons,  and  the  Tenor  gave  him  these,  and  such  a  breakfast 
also  as  a  small  boy  loves;  but  the  little  fellow,  to  do  him  jus 
tice,  cared  more  for  the  Tenor  than  the  breakfast. 

There  were  three  services  in  the  cathedral  that  day,  and  the 
Tenor  went  to  each,  but  he  did  not  sing.  He  seemed  to  have 
taken  cold  and  was  hoarse,  with  a  slight  cough,  and  a  peculiar 
little  stab  in  his  chest  and  catching  of  the  breath,  which,  how 
ever,  did  not  trouble  him  much  to  begin  with.  But  as  the 
day  advanced  every  bone  in  his  body  ached  with  a  dull  weary 
ing  pain,  and  he  was  glad  to  go  to  bed  early.  Once  there,  the 
sense  of  fatigue  was  overpowering,  yet  he  could  not  sleep  until 
long  past  midnight,  when  he  dropped  off  quite  suddenly ;  or 
rather,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  when  all  at  once  he  plunged  head 
long  into  the  liver  to  rescue  the  Boy,  and  began  to  go  down, 
down,  down,  to  a  never-ending  depth,  the  weight  of  the  water 
above  him  becoming  greater  and  greater  till  the  pressure  was 
unbearable,  and  a  horrid  sense  of  suffocation,  increasing  every 
instant,  impelled  him  to  struggle  to  the  surface,  but  vainly. 
He  could  not  rise — and  down,  down,  he  continued  to  descend, 
reaching  no  bottom,  yet  dropping  at  last,  before  he  could  help 
himself,  on  a  sharp  stake,  pointed  like  a  dagger,  that  ran  right 
through  his  chest.  The  pain  aroused  him  with  a  great  start, 
but  the  impression  had  been  so  vivid,  that  it  was  some  time 
before  he  could  shake  off  the  sensation  of  descending  with  icy 
water  about  him;  and  even  when  he  was  wide  awake,  and 
although  he  was  bathed  in  perspiration,  the  feeling  of  cold 
remained,  and  so  did  the  pain. 

It  was  during  that  night  that  the  weather  changed. 

The  next  day  it  was  blowing  a  gale.  Heavy  showers  began 
to  fall  at  intervals,  chilling  the  atmosphere,  and  finally  settled 
into  a  steady  downpour,  such  as  frequently  occurs  in  the 
middle  of  summer,  making  everything  indoors  humid  and 
unwholesome,  and  causing  colds  and  sore  throats  and  other 
unseasonable  complaints. 

The  Tenor  taught  his  little  choir  boy  as  usual  in  the  morn 
ing,  went  to  the  three  services,  getting  more  or  less  wet  each 
time,  and  then  came  home  and  tried  to  do  some  work,  but  was 
not  equal  to  it — his  head  ached ;  then  tried  to  smoke,  but  the 
pipe  nauseated  him ;  and  finally  resigned  himself  to  idleness, 
and  just  sat  still  in  his  lonely  room,  lonely  of  heart  himself, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  503 

yet  with  his  hands  patiently  folded,  dreamily  watching  the  rain 
as  it  beat  upon  the  old  cathedral  opposite,  and  streamed  from 
eave  and  gargoyle,  and  splashed  from  the  narrow  spouting 
under  the  roof,  making  spreading  pathways  of  dark  moisture 
for  itself  on  the  gray  stone  walls  wherever  it  overflowed.  It 
was  all  "His  Will"  to  the  Tenor,  and  for  his  sake  there  was 
nothing  he  would  not  have  borne  heroically. 


He,  watch-ing  o- ver        Is  •  ra  -  el,     clumbers  not,  nor    sleeps. 

His  cough  was  much  worse  that  day,  the  pain  in  his  chest 
was  more  acute,  and  his  temperature  rose  higher  and  higher, 
yet  he  did  not  complain.  He  knew  he  was  suffering  from 
something  serious  now,  but  he  derived  from  his  perfect  faith 
in  the  beneficence  of  the  Power  that  orders  all  things  an 
almost  superhuman  fortitude. 

But  as  he  sat  there  with  his  hands  folded,  his  mind,  busy 
with  many  things,  returned  inevitably  to  the  old  weary  theme, 
just  as,  at  the  same  time,  Angelica's  own  was  doing,  but  from 
the  opposite  point  of  view.  Always,  after  a  startling  event, 
those  who  have  been  present  as  spectators,  or  taken  some  part 
in  it,  repeat  their  experiences,  and  make  some  remark  upon 
them,  again  and  again  in  exactly  the  same  words,  their  minds 
working  upon  the  subject  like  heat  upon  water  that  boils, 
forming  it  into  bubbles  which  it  bursts  and  re-forms  inces 
santly.  He  began  each  time  with  that  remark  of  Angelica's 
about  the  change  which  mere  dress  effects,  and  went  on  to 
wonder  at  the  transformation  of  a  strong  young  woman  into  a 
slender  delicate-looking  boy  by  it;  and  then  went  on  to  accept 
her  conclusion  that  it  was  natural  he  should  have  been  deceived 
seeing  that,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  not  the  slightest  suspi 
cion,  and  in  the  second  he  had  never  seen  the  "Boy"  except 
in  his  own  dimly  lighted  room,  or  out  of  doors  at  night— 
besides,  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  a  boy  had  been  success 
fully  personated  by  a  girl,  a  man  by  a  woman;  but  here  he 
found  himself  obliged  to  rehearse  the  instances  which  Angelica 
had  quoted.  Then  he  would  reconsider  the  fact  that  the  part 
had  been  well  played ;  not  only  attitudes  and  gestures,  but 
ideas  and  sentiments,  and  the  proper  expression  of  them  had 


504  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

been  done  to  perfection— which  led  up  again  to  anothei 
assertion  of  hers.  She  had  been  a  boy  for  the  time  being, 
there  was  no  doubt  about  that.  And  yet  if  he  had  had  the 
slightest  suspicion!  There  had  been  the  shyness  at  first, 
which  had  worn  off  as  it  became  apparent  that  the  disguise 
was  complete;  the  horror  of  being  touched  or  startled,  of  any 
thing,  as  he  now  perceived,  which  might  have  caused  a 
momentary  forgetfulness,  and  so  have  led  to  self-betrayal;  the 
boyishnesses  which,  alternating  with  older  moods,  might  have 
suggested  something,  but  had  only  charmed  him ;  the  woman- 
ishnesses  of  which,  alas !  there  had  been  too  few  as  seen  by  the 
light  of  this  new  revelation;  the  physical  differences — but  they 
had  been  cleverly  concealed,  as  she  said,  by  the  cut  of  her 
clothing,  and  pads;  the  "funny  head,"  however,  about  which 
they  had  both  jested  so  often — oh,  dear!  how  sick  he  was  of 
the  whole  subject!  If  only  it  would  let  him  alone!  But  what 
pretty  ways  he  had  had — the  "Boy" !  What  a  dear,  dear  lad 
he  had  been  with  all  his  faults !  Alas !  alas !  if  only  the  Boy 
had  been  left  him! 

Then  a  pause.  Then  off  again.  He  had  been  enchanted, 
like  Reymond  of  Lusignan  in  olden  times,  by  a  creature  that 
was  half  a  monster.  The  Boy  had  been  a  reality  to  him,  but 
the  lady  had  never  been  more  than  a  lovely  dream,  and  the 
monster— well,  the  monster  had  not  yet  appeared,  for  that 
dark  haired  girl  in  the  unwomanly  clothes,  with  pride  on  her 
lips  and  pain  in  her  eyes,  was  no  monster  after  all,  but  an 
erring  mortal  like  himself,  a  poor  weak  creature  to  be  pitied 
and  prayed  for.  And  the  Tenor  bowed  his  sunny  head  and 
prayed  for  her  earnestly  through  all  the  long  hours  of  solitary 
suffering  which  closed  that  day. 

Then  came  another  sleepless  night,  and  another  gloomy 
morning  which  brought  his  little  chorister  boy,  whom  he  tried 
to  teach  as  usual;  but  even  the  child  saw  what  the  effort  cost 
him,  and  looked  at  him  with  great  tender  eyes  solemnly,  and 
was  very  docile. 

Before  the  early  service  one  of  his  fellow  lay  clerks  came  in 
to  see  how  he  was.  They  had  all  noticed  the  feverish  cold 
from  which  he  had  appeared  to  be  suffering  the  whole  week, 
and  this  one,  not  finding  him  better,  begged  him  to  stay  in 
that  day  and  take  care  of  himself  for  the  sake  of  his  voice. 
The  Tenor  brushed  his  hand  back  over  his  hair.  He  had  for 
gotten  that  he  ever  had  a  voice.  But  at  all  events  he  must  go 
to  the  morning  service;  after  that  he  would  stay  at  home.  He 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  505 

longed  for  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  which  was  always  a  "Holy 
Communion"  to  him;  but  he  did  not  say  so. 

That  afternoon  he  fell  asleep  in  his  easy-chair  facing  the 
window  which  looked  out  upon  the  cathedral — or  into  a 
troubled  doze  rather,  from  which  he  awoke  all  at  once  with  a 
start,  and,  seeing  the  window  shut,  rose  hurriedly  to  go  and 
open  it  for  the  "Boy."  He  had  done  so  before  at  night  often 
when  he  chanced  to  forget  it.  But  when  he  got  to  it  now  he 
had  to  clutch  the  frame  to  support  himself,  and  he  looked  out 
stupidly  for  some  seconds,  wondering  in  a  dazed  way  why  the 
sun  was  shining  when  it  should  be  dark.  Then  suddenly  full 
consciousness  returned,  and  he  remembered.  He  should 
never  open  the  window  again  for  the  Boy,  never  again. 

He  returned  to  his  chair  after  that,  and  sat  down  to  think. 

When  he  began  to  understand  it  thoroughly — the  meaning 
of  the  last  incident — he  was  startled  out  of  the  apathy  that 
oppressed  him. 

It  became  evident  now  that  he  was  not  merely  suffering,  but 
fast  becoming  disabled  by  illness,  and  it  was  time  he  let  some 
one  know,  otherwise  there  might  be  confusion  and  annoyance 
about — his  work — finding  a  substitute;  and  there  would  be  a 
risk  about — about — what  was  he  trying  to  think  of?  Oh,  her 
name.  He  might  mention  it  and  be  overheard  by  curious 
people  if  he  lost  his  head — Angelica — Mrs.  Kilroy  of  Ilver- 
thorpe — he  wished  he  could  forget;  but  he  would  provide 
against  the  danger  of  repeating  them  aloud.  He  would  tele 
graph  to  his  own  man — the  fellow  had  written  to  him  the  other 
day,  being  in  want  of  a  place:  a  capital  servant  and  discreet — 
glad  he  had  thought  of  him.  And  then  there  were  other  mat 
ters — the  sensible  setting  of  his  house  in  order  which  every 
man  threatened  with  illness  would  be  wise  to  see  to.  There 
were  several  letters  he  must  write,  one  to  the  dean,  amongst 
others,  to  ask  him  to  come  and  see  him.  Writing  was  a  great 
effort,  but  he  managed  with  much  difficulty  to  accomplish  all 
that  he  had  set  himself  to  do,  and  then  his  mind  was  at  rest. 

Presently  his  old  housekeeper  came  in  with  some  tea.  She 
was  anxious  about  him. 

"I've  brought  you  this,  sir,"  she  said  "You've  not  tasted 
a  solid  morsel  since  Tuesday  morning,  and  this  is  Thursday 
afternoon.  Try  and  take  something,  sir,  it  will  do  you  good. 
You  must  be  getting  quite  faint,  and  indeed  you  look  it." 

"Now,  I  call  that  good  of  you,"  the  Tenor  answered 
hoarsely,  as  he  took  the  cup  from  her  hand.  "I  shall  be  glad 


506  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

to  have  some  tea.  I've  been  quite  longing  for  something  hot 
to  drink." 

The  woman  was  examining  his  face  with  critical  kindness. 
She  noticed  the  constant  attempt  to  cough,  and  the  painful 
catching  of  the  breath  which  rendered  the  effort  abortive. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  not  at  all  well,  sir,"  she  said,  expect 
ing  him  to  deny  it,  but  he  did  not. 

"I  am  not  at  all  well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  confessed. 

"I  have  just  written  to  the  dean  to  tell  him,  and "  a  fit  of 

coughing  rendered  the  end  of  the  sentence  unintelligible.  "I 
want  you  to  post  these  letters,"  he  was  able  to  say  at  last  dis 
tinctly;  "send  this  telegram  off  at  once  to  my  servant,  and 
leave  this  note  at  the  deanery.  That  will  do  as  you  go  home. 
The  man  should  be  here  to-morrow,  and  anything  else  there 
may  be  can  be  attended  to  when  he  arrives." 

"You'll  let  your  friends  know  you're  not  very  well,  sir," 
the  housekeeper  suggested. 

"Those  letters" — indicating  the  ones  she  held  in  her  hand — 
"are  to  tell  them." 

The  woman  seeing  to  whom  the  letters  were  addressed,  and 
hearing  the  Tenor  talk  in  an  off-hand  way  about  his  manserv 
ant  as  if  he  had  been  accustomed  to  the  luxury  all  his  life, 
feared  for  a  moment  that  his  mind  was  affected ;  but  then 
some  of  those  wild  surmises  as  to  whom  and  what  he  might  be, 
which  were  rife  all  over  the  ancient  city  when  he  first  arrived, 
recurred  to  her,  and  there  slipped  from  her  unawares  the 
remark:  "Well,  they  always  said  you  was  somebody,  and  to 
look  at  you  one  might  suppose  you  was  a  dook  or  a  markis, 
sir,  but  I  won't  make  so  bold  as  to  ask." 

The  Tenor  smiled,  "I  am  afraid  I  am  only  a  Tenor  with  an 
abominable  cold,"  he  rejoined  good-naturedly.  "I  really 
think  I  must  nurse  it  a  little.  When  I  have  seen  the  dean, 
I  shall  go  to  bed." 

"You'll  see  the  doctor  first,"  she  muttered  decisively  as  she 
took  up  the  tray  and  withdrew. 

The  Tenor  overheard  her,  but  was  past  making  any  objec 
tion.  He  had  managed  to  take  the  tea,  and,  eased  by  the 
grateful  warmth,  he  sank  into  another  heavy  doze  from  which 
the  arrival  of  the  doctor  roused  him.  It  was  evening  then. 

He  made  an  effort  to  rise  in  his  courteous  way  to  receive 
the  doctor,  was  sorry  to  trouble  him  for  anything  so  trifling  as 
a  cold,  would  not  have  troubled  him  in  fact  had  not  his 
officious  old  housekeeper  taken  the  law  into  her  hands ;  but 


TttR  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  507 

now  that  he  had  come  was  very  glad  to  see  him ;  singers,  as 
the  doctor  knew,  being  fidgety  about  their  throats;  and  really 
— with  a  smile — even  a  cold  was  important  when  it  threatened 
one's  means  of  livelihood. 

The  doctor  responded  cheerfully  to  these  cheerful  plati 
tudes,  but  he  was  listening  and  observing  all  the  time.  Then 
he  took  out  a  stethoscope  in  two  pieces,  and  as  he  screwed 
them  together  he  asked: 

"Been  wet  lately?" 

'  'Well,  yes, ' '  the  Tenor  answered— "something  of  that  kind. " 

"And  you  did  not  change  immediately?" 

"N-no,  now  I  think  of  it,  not  for  hours.  In  fact,  I  believe 
my  things  dried  on  me." 

"Ah-h-h!"  shaking  his  head.  "And  you'd  been  living 
rather  low  before  that,  perhaps?  (Just  let  me  take  your  tem 
perature.)  I  should  say  that  you  had  got  a  little  down — below 
par,  you  know,  eh?" 

"Well,  perhaps,"  the  Tenor  acknowledged. 

"Humph."  The  doctor  glanced  at  his  clinical  thermom 
eter.  "You  have  a  temperature,  young  man.  Now  let  me — " 
he  applied  the  stethoscope.  "I  am  afraid  you  are  in  for 
a  bad  dose,"  he  said  after  a  careful  examination.  "I  wish 
you  had  sent  for  me  twenty-four  hours  sooner.  These  things 
should  be  taken  in  time.  And  it  is  marvellous  how  you  have 
kept  about  so  long,  But  now  go  to  bed  at  once.  Keep  your 
self  warm,  and  the  temperature  as  even  as  possible.  It  is  all 

a  matter  of  nursing;  but  I'll  save "  he  had  been  going  to 

say  "your  life"  but  changed  the  phrase — "your  voice,  never 
fear!" 

The  Tenor  smiled:  "Pneumonia,  I  suppose?"  he  said  inter 
rogatively. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  it  is,"  the  doctor  answered  as  he  rose  to 
depart;  "and  double  pneumonia,  to  boot.  I'll  send  you 
something  to  take  at  once" — and  he  hurried  away  before  the 
housekeeper  had  time  to  speak  to  him. 

When  the  medicine  arrived,  however,  she  had  the  satisfac 
tion  of  administering  a  dose  to  her  master,  and  she  begged  at 
the  same  time  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  stay  in  the  house 
that  night  in  case  he  wanted  anything,  but  this  the  Tenor 
would  not  hear  of.  He  did  not  think  he  should  want  any 
thing — (he  could  think  of  nothing  unfortunately  but  the  risk  of 
mentioning  Angelica's  name).  She  might  come  a  little  earlier 
in  the  morning  and  get  him  some  tea;  probably  he  would  be 


508  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

glad  of  some  then.  He  was  not  going  to  get  up  in  the  morn, 
ing,  he  really  meant  to  take  care  of  himself.  The  housekeeper 
coaxed,  but  in  vain.  There  was  no  place  for  her  to  sleep  in 
comfort,  no  bell  to  summon  her,  and  as  to  sitting  up  all  night 
that  was  out  of  the  question;  who  would  do  her  work  in  the 
morning?  There  would  be  plenty  of  people  to  look  after  him 
to-morrow.  One  night  could  make  no  difference. 

Had  she  heard  the  doctor's  orders  she  would  have  disobeyed 
her  master,  but  as 'it  was  his  manner  imposed  upon  her,  he 
spoke  so  confidently;  and  accordingly  she  left  the  house  at  the 
usual  hour,  to  the  Tenor's  great  relief. 

When  she  had  gone  he  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  haemop 
tysis,  and  after  he  had  recovered  from  that  sufficiently  he  went 
to  bed — or  rather  he  found  himself  there,  not  knowing  quite 
how  it  had  come  to  pass,  for  the  disease  had  made  rapid  pro 
gress  in  the  last  few  hours,  and  he  now  suffered  acutely,  his 
temperature  was  higher,  and  the  terrible  sense  of  suffocation 
continued  to  increase. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  dean,  in  his  comfortable  easy- 
chair,  looked  up  from  the  Tenor's  note,  and  said  to  his  wife 
deprecatingly:  "He  is  ill,  it  seems,  and  wishes  to  see  me.  Do 
you  think  I  need  go  to-night?" 

*"No,  my  dear,  certainly  not,"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 
"There  cannot  be  much  the  matter  with  him.  I  saw  him  out 
only  yesterday  or  the  day  before.  And  at  all  events  it  will  do 
in  the  morning.  You  must  consider  yourself." 

So  the  dean  stayed  at  home  to  lay  up  a  lifelong  regret  for 
himself,  but  not  with  an  easy  conscience.  He  had  a  sort  of 
feeling  that  it  would  be  well  to  go,  which  his  dislike  to  turning 
out  on  a  raw  night  like  that  would  not  have  outweighed  with 
out  his  wife's  word  in  the  scale. 

Nothing  was  being  done  to  relieve  the  Tenor.  There  were 
no  medicines  regularly  administered,  no  soothing  drinks  for 
him,  no  equable  temperature,  no  boiling  water  to  keep  the 
atmosphere  moist  with  steam,  the  common  necessaries  of  such 
a  case;  all  these  the  Tenor,  knowing  his  danger,  had  compos 
edly  foregone  lest  perchance  in  a  moment  of  delirium  he 
should  mention  a  lady's  name;  and  that  he  had  had  the  fore 
sight  to  do  so  was  a  cause  of  earnest  thanksgiving  to  him  when 
every  breath  of  cold  air  began  to  stab  like  a  knife  through  his 
lungs,  and  his  senses  wandered  away  for  lengths  of  time  which 
he  could  not  compute,  and  he  became  conscious  that  he  was 
uttering  his  thoughts  aloud  in  spite  of  himself. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWIttS.  $0$ 

"It  is  not  so  very  long  till  morning/*  he  found  himself  say- 
ing  once.  "I  will  just  lie  still  and  bear  it  till  then.  lam 

drowsy  enough — and  in  the  morning "  but  now  all  at  once 

he  asked  himself,  was  there  to  be  any  more  morning  for  him? 

He  was  too  healthy-minded  to  long  for  death,  and  too 
broken-hearted  to  shrink  from  it.  His  first  feeling,  however, 
when  he  realized  the  near  prospect  was  nothing  but  a  kind  of 
mild  surprise  that  it  should  be  near,  and  even  this  was 
instantly  dismissed.  No  more  morning  for  him  meant  little 
leisure  to  think  of  her,  and  here  he  hastened  to  fold  his  hands 
and  bow  his  golden  head:  "Lord,  Lord,"  he  entreated  in  the 
midst  of  his  martyrdom,  "make  her  a  good  woman  yet." 

The  bells  above  him  broke  in  upon  his  prayer.  "Amen" 
and  "amen,"  they  seemed  to  say;  and  then  the  chime,  full- 
fraught  for  him  with  promise,  rang  its  constant  message  out, 
and  as  he  listened  his  heart  expanded  with  hope,  his  last 
earthly  sorrow  slipped  away  from  him,  and  his  soul  relied 
upon  the  certainty  that  his  final  supplication  was  not  in  vain. 

After  this  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  his  own  suffer 
ings  for  a  little.  Then  there  came  a  blank;  and  next  he 
thought  he  was  singing. 

He  heard  his  own  marvellous  voice  and  wondered  at  it,  and 
he  remembered  that  once  before  he  had  had  the  same  expe 
riences,  but  when  or  where  he  could  not  recall.  Now,  he 
would  fain  have  stopped;  for  every  note  was  a  dagger  in  his 
breast,  yet  he  found  himself  forced  to  sing  till  at  last  the  pain 
aroused  him. 

When  full  consciousness  returned,  a  terrible  thirst  devoured 
him.  What  would  he  not  have  given  for  a  drink! — something 
to  drink,  and  someone  to  bring  it  to  him. 

What  made  him  think  of  his  mother  just  then?  Where  wat 
his  mother?  It  was  just  as  well,  perhaps,  she  should  not  be 
there  to  see  him  suffer. 

He  had  never  a  bitter  thought  in  his  mind  about  any  person 
or  thing,  nor  did  he  dream  of  bemoaning  the  cruel  fate  which 
left  him  now  at  his  death,  as  at  his  birth,  deserted.  What  he 
did  think  of  were  the  many  kind  people  who  would  have  been 
only  too  glad  to  come  to  his  assistance  had  they  but  known 
his  need. 

But  the  torment  of  thirst  increased  upon  him. 

He  thought  of  the  dear  Lord  in  his  agony  of  thirst,  and 
bore  it  for  a  time.  Then  he  remembered  that  there  must  be 
water  in  the  room.  With  great  difficulty  he  got  up  to  get  it 


510  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

for  himself.  His  face  was  haggard  and  drawn  by  this  time, 
and  there  were  great  black  circles  round  his  sunken  eyes,  but 
the  expression  of  strength  and  sweetness  had  been  inten 
sified  if  anything,  and  he  never  looked  more  beautiful  than 
then. 

It  seemed  like  a  day's  journey  to  the  washstahd.  He 
reached  it  at  last,  however,  reached  it  and  grasped  the  carafe 
— with  such  a  feeling  of  relief  and  thankfulness!  Alas!  it 
was  empty.  So  also  was  the  jug.  The  woman  had  forgotten 
for  once  to  fill  them,  and  there  was  not  a  drop  of  water  to 
moisten  his  lips. 

Tears  came  at  this,  and  he  sank  into  a  chair.  It  was  hard, 
and  he  was  much  exhausted,  but  still  there  was  no  reproach 
upon  his  lips.  Presently  he  found  himself  in  bed  again  with 
his  pillows  arranged  so  as  to  prop  him  up.  The  struggle  for 
breath  was  awful,  and  he  could  not  lie  down.  He  had  only 
to  fight  for  a  little  longer,  howev;r,  then  suddenly  the  worst 
was  over.  And  at  the  same  moment,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  the 
chime  rang  out  again  triumphantly;  and  almost  immediately 
afterward  his  first  friend  and  foster  father,  the  rough  collier, 
grasped  his  hand.  But  he  had  scarcely  greeted  him  when  his 
second  friend  arrived,  and  bending  over  him  called  him  as  of 
old,  "Julian,  my  dear,  dear  boy!"  This  reminded  the 
Tenor.  "Where  is  the  Boy?"  he  said.  "Is  the  window 
open?  It  is  time  he  came." 

"Israfil,  I  am  here,"  was  the  soft  response.  The  Tenor's 
face  became  radiant.  All  whom  he  had  ever  cared  for  were 
present  with  him,  coming  as  he  called  them — even  the  dean, 
who  was  kneeling  now  beside  his  bed  murmuring  accustomed 
prayers.  "What  happiness!"  The  Tenor  murmured.  "I 
was  so  sorrowful  this  afternoon,  and  now!  A  happy  death!  a 
happy  death!  Ah,  Boy,  do  you  not  see  that  he  gives  us  our 
»  heart's  desire?  He  slumbers  not,  nor  sleeps,"  and  the 
Tenor's  face  shone. 

Then  the  chime  was  ringing  again,  and  now  it  never  ceased 
for  him.  He  had  sunk  into  the  last  dreamy  lethargy  from 
which  only  the  clash  of  the  bells  above  roused  him  hour  by 
hour  during  the  few  that  remained;  but  all  sense  of  time  was 
over;  the  hours  were  one;  and  so  the  beloved  music  accom 
panied  him  till  his  spirit  rose  enraptured  to  the  glory  of  the 
Beatific  Vision  itself. 

It  was  just  at  the  dawn,  when  the  Boy  was  wont  to  leave 
him,  that,  according  to  his  ancient  faith,  the  dear-earned 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  511 

wings  were  given  him,  the  angel  guardian  led  him,  and  the 

true  and  beautiful  pure  spirit  was  welcomed  by  its  kindred 
into  everlasting  joy. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHEN  Angelica  heard  those  dreadful  words:  "He's  dead, 
miss,  didn't  you  know?  and  buried  yesterday" — her  jaw 
dropped,  and  for  a  moment  she  felt  the  solid  earth  reel  beneath 
her.  The  colour  left  her  face  and  returned  to  it,  red  chasing 
white  as  one  breath  follows  another,  and  she  glared  at  the 
woman.  For  her  first  indignant  thought  was  that  she  was 
being  insulted  with  a  falsehood.  The  thing  was  impossible; 
he  could  not  be  dead. 

**And  buried  yesterday,"  the  woman  repeated. 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  Angelica  exclaimed,  stamping  her 
foot  imperiously. 

The  woman  drew  herself  up,  gave  one  indignant  look,  then 
turned  her  back,  and  walked  into  the  house. 

Angelica  ran  down  the  passage  after  her,  and  grasped  her 
arm.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said.  "But,  oh,  do  tell  me 
— do  make  me  understand,  for  I  cannot  believe  it!  I  cannot 
believe  it!" 

The  woman  pushed  open  the  sitting  room  door,  and  led 
her  in. 

"Was  you  a  friend  of  his,  miss — or  ma'am?"  she  asked. 

"I   am   Mrs.    Kilroy   of    Ilverthorpe,"  Angelica  answered. 
"Yes,  I  was  a  friend  of  his.     I  cared  for  him  greatly.     It  is 
only  a  few  days  since  I  saw  him  alive  and  well.     Oh!   it  isrTt 
true!   it  isn't  true!"  she  broke  off,  wringing  her  hands, 
cannot  believe  it!" 

The  woman  sat  down,  threw  her  apron  back  over  her  face, 
and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

Angelica,  dazed  and  dry-eyed,  stared  at  her  stupidly, 
shock  had  stunned  her. 

Presently  the  woman  recovered  herself,  and  seeing  the  lady  s 
stony  face,  forgot  her  own  trouble  for  the  moment,  and  has 
tened  to  help  her.  , 

"I  don't  wonder  you're  took-to,  my  lady,"  she  said, 
bin  a  awful  blow  to   a  many,   a  awful   blow.     Oh!   E   never 
thought  when  they  used  to  come  and  see  him  here  in  their 
fine  carriages  and  with  their  servants  and  their  horses  and 


$tt  TtfE  HEAfrbNLV 

that,  as  it  was  anything  but  the  music  brought  'em — thof,  mind 
you,  he  was  as  easy  with  them  as  they  with  him.  Oh,  dear! 
Oh,  dear!" 

Angelica's  lips  were  so  parched  she  could  hardly  articulate. 
"Tell  me,"  she  gasped,  "tell  me  all.  I  cannot  understand." 

The  woman  fetched  her  some  water.  "Lie  back  a  bit  in 
this  chair,  ma'am,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  just  tell  you.  It'll 
come  easier  when  you  know.  When  one  knows,  it  helps  a 
body.  You  see,  ma'am,  it  was  this  way" — and  then  she 
poured  forth  the  narrative  of  those  last  sad  days,  omitting  no 
detail,  and  Angelica  listened,  dry-eyed  at  first,  but  presently 
she  was  seized  upon  by  the  pitifulness  of  it  all,  and  then,  like 
scattered  raindrops  that  precede  a  heavy  shower,  the  great 
tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  slowly  overflowed,  forerunners 
of  a  storm  which  burst  at  last  in  deep  convulsive  sobs  that  rent 
her,  so  that  her  suffering  body  came  to  the  relief  of  her  mind. 

"I  wanted  to  stay  with  'im  that  last  night  and  see  to  'im," 
the  housekeeper  proceeded,  "for  the  doctor's  very  words  to 
me  was,  when  I  went  to  fetch  'im,  before  ever  'e  had  come 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  'e  ses,  knowing  me  for  a  many 
years,  'e  ses,  *Yoiril  look  after  'im  well,  I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Jen 
kins,'  'e  ses,  and  I  answered,  'Yes,  sir,  please  God,  I  will,'  for 
I  felt  as  something  was  'anging  over  me  then,  I  did,  tho*  little 
I  knowed  what  it  was.  And  I  did  my  best  to  persuade  'im  to 
let  me  stay  that  night  and  nurse  'im,  but  'e  wouldn't  hear  of 
it;  'e  said  there  wasn't  no  need;  and  what  with  the  way  'e 
'ad  as  you  didn't  like  to  go  agin  'im  in  nothing,  and  what 
with  'is  bein'  so  cheerful  like,  'e  imposed  upon  me,  so  I  went 
away.  Oh,  it's  been  a  bad  business"— shaking  her  head  dis 
consolately — "a  bad  business!  To  think  of 'im  bein'  alone 
that  night  without  a  soul  near  'im,  and  it  'is  last  on  earth. 
He'd  not  'ave  let  a  dog  die  so,  'e  wouldn't." 

Angelica's  sobs  redoubled. 

"But  I  couldn't  rest,  ma'am,"  the  woman  went  on.  "The 
whole  night  through  I  kep  awaking  up  and  thinking  of  'im, 
and  I  'card  every  hour  strike,  till  at  last  I  couldn't  stand  it  no 
longer,  and  I  just  got  up  and  came  to  see  'ow  'e  was.  I'd  'a' 
bin  less  tired  if  I'd  a  sat  up  all  night  with  'im.  And  I  came 
'ere,  and  as  soon  as  I  opened  the  door,  ma'am,  there!"  she 
threw  her  hands  before  her — "I  knew  there  was  something! 
For  the  smell  that  met  me  in  the  passage,  it  was  just  for  all  the 
world  like  fresh  turned  clay.  But  still  I  didn't  think.  It 
wasn't  till  afterward  that  I  knowed  it  was  'is  grave.  And  I 


twttis.  513 


like,  in  a  whisper,  for  fear  of  wakin'  'im  if  'e  should  be  asleep. 
Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  I  needn't  'a'  bin  so  careful!  And  I 
ses  it  agin:  'Ow  are  you,  sir,  this  mornin'?'  I  ses:  'I  'ope 
you  'ad  a  good  night,'  I  ses;  but  still  'e  didn't  answer,  and 
some'ow  it  struck  me,  ma'am,  that  the  'ouse  was  very  quiet — 
it  seemed  kind  of  unnatural  still,  if  you  understand.  So,  just 
without  knowin'  why  like,  I  pushed  the  door  open" — showing 
how  she  did  it  with  her  hands — "little  by  little,  bit  by  bit,  all 
for  fear  of  disturbing  'im,  till  at  last  I  steps  in,  makin'  no 
noise — Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!"  She  threw  her  apron  up  over 
her  face  again,  and  rocked  herself  as  she  stood.  "And  there 
*e  was,  ma'am,"  she  resumed  huskily,  "propped  up  by  pillows 
in  the  bed  so  as  to  be  almost  sittin',  and  the  top  one  was  a 
great  broad  pillow,  very  white,  for  'e  was  always  most  per- 
tic'lar  about  such  things,  and  'ad  'em  all  of  the  very  best. 
And  'is  face  was  turned  away  from  me  as  I  came  in,  ma'am, 
so  that  I  only  saw  it  sidewise,  and  just  at  first  I  thought  'e  was 
asleep — very  sound."  She  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron, 
and  shook  her  head  several  times.  "And  there's  a  little  win 
dow  to  'is  room  what  slides  along  instead  of  openin'  up,"  she 
proceeded  when  she  had  recovered  herself  sufficiently,  "with 
small  panes,  and  outside  there's  roses  and  honeysucklers,  what 
made  shadows  that  flickered,  for  the  mornin'  was  gusty  though 
bright,  and  they  deceived  me.  I  thought  'e  was  breathin' 
natural.  But  while  I  stood  there  the  sun  shone  in  and  just 
touched  the  edges  of  'is  'air,  ma'am,  and  it  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  a  crown  of  gold  against  the  white  pillows,  it  did, 
indeed — eh!  ma'am,  I  don't  wonder  you  take  on!"  This 
emphatically  upon  a  fresh  outburst  of  uncontrollable  grief 
from  Angelica.  "For  I  ses  to  myself,  when  the  light  fell  on 
'is  face  strong  like  that,  'It's  the  face  of  a  angel,'  I  ses— "but 
there!"  raising  her  hands  palms  outward,  slowly,  and  bringing 
them  down  to  her  knees  again— "I  can't  tell  you!  But  'is  lips 
were  just  a  little  parted,  ma'am,  with  a  sort  o'  look  on  'em, 
not  a  smile,  you  understand,  but  just  a  look  that  sweet  as  made 
you  feel  like  smilin'  yourself!  and  'is  skin  that  transapparent 
you'd  'ave  expected  to  see  through  it;  but  that  didn't  make 
me  think  nothin',  for  it  was  always  so— as  clear  as  your^own, 
ma'am,  if  you'll  excuse  the  liberty;  and  some  folks  said  it  was 
because  he  was  a  great  lord  in  disguise,  for  such  do  'ave  fine 


514  TtfR  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

skins;  and  some  said  it  was  because  'e  was  so  good,  but  I 
think  it  was  both  myself.  But  'owever,  ma'am,  seem'  'e  slept 
so  sound,  I  made  bold  to  creep  in  a  little  nearer,  for  'e  was  a 
picter!"  shaking  her  head  solemnly — "an*  I  was  just  thinkin' 
what  a  proud  woman  'is  mother  would  be  if  she  was  me  to  see 
'im  at  that  moment  an'  'im  so  beautiful,  when,  ma'am" — but 
here  her  voice  broke,  and  it  was  some  seconds  before  she  could 
add — "you  might  'a'  'card  me  scream  at  the  cathedral.  And 
after  I  'ad  screamed  I'd  'a'  given  untold  gold  not  to  'a'  done 
it.  For  it  seemed  a  sin  to  make  a  noise,  and  'im  so  still. 
And,  oh!  ma'am,  'e'd  bin  dyin'  the  'ole  o'  that  last  afternoon 
an'  I  never  suspected  'e'd  more  nor  a  cold,  though  I  knew  it 
was  bad.  An'  'e'd  bin  alone  the  'ole  o'  that  blessed  night  a 
dyin',  an*  sensible  they  say  to  the  last,  an'  not  a  soul  to  give 
'im  so  much  as  a  drink,  an'  the  thirst  awful,  so  I'm  told.  An' 
'e'd  been  up  to  try  an*  get  one  for  'imself,  for  the  bottle  off 
the  washstand  was  lyin'  on  the  floor  as  if  he'd  dropped  it  out 
of  'is  'and — 'e'd  got  up  to  get  a  drink  for  'imself,"  she 
repeated  impressively,  "an*  'im  dyin',  ma'am,  and  there  wasn't 
a  drop  o'  water  there.  I  knowed  it — I  knowed  it  the  moment 
I  see  that  bottle  on  the  floor.  I'd  forgot  to  bring  up  any 
before  I  left  the  day  before,  though  I  ses  to  myself  when  I  did 
the  room  in  the  mornin' — 'I  must  fetch  that  water  at  once,' 
and  nerer  thought  of  it  again  from  that  moment." 

"Oh,  this  is  dreadful!   dreadful!"  Angelica  moaned. 

"Eh!"  the  woman  ejaculated  sympathetically.  "And  the 
'ardest  part  of  it  was  the  way  they  came  when  it  was  too  late. 
Everybody.  An'  me,  'eaven  forgive  me,  thinkin'  'im  out  o' 
'is  mind  when  'e  wrote  to  'em  an'  said  they  was  'is  friends. 
There  was  'is  lordship  the  Markis  o'  Dawne,  and  'is  two  sis 
ters,  an*  that  other  great  lady  what  is  with  'em  so  much.  An' 
they  didn't  say  much  any  of  'em  except  'er,  but  she  wept  an' 
wrung  'er  'ands,  and  blamed  'erself  and  everybody  for  lettin' 
the  master  'ave  'is  own  way  an'  leaving  'im,  as  it  seems  it  was 
'is  wish  to  be  left,  alone  with  some  trouble  'e  'ad.  But  they 
*ad  come  to  see  'im,  too,  Dr.  Galbraith  and  the  Markis  'ad, 
many  times,  for  I  let  'em  in  myself,  an'  never  thought  nothin' 
of  it  in  the  way  of  their  bein*  friends  of  'is,  I  thought  they 
came  about  the  music.  Eh!"  she  repeated,  "they  didn't  say 
much,  any  of  'em,  but  you  could  see,  you  could  see!  An' 
the  dean  came,  an'  you  should  'a'  'card  'm!  full  o'  remorse, 
'e  was,  ma'am,  for  not  'avin'  come  the  night  before,  though  'e 
was  asked.  An*  they  all  went  upstairs  to  see  'm,  an'  'im  lyin' 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  515 

there  so  quiet  and  all  indifferent  to  their  grief,  yet  with  such  a 
look  of  peace  upon  'is  face!  It  was  sweet  and  it  was  sad 
too;  for  all  the  world  as  if  'e'd  bin  'urt  cruel  by  somebody 
in  'is  feelin's  but  'ad  forgiven  'em,  an'  then  bin  glad  to 

go-'1 

"Israfil!  Israfil!"  the  wretched  Angelica  moaned  aloud. 
She  could  picture  the  scene.  Her  Aunt  Fulda,  prayerful  but 
tearless,  only  able  to  sorrow  as  saints  and  angels  do;  Ideala 
with  her  great  human  heart  torn,  weeping  and  wailing  and 
wringing  her  hands;  Aunt  Claudia,  hard  of  aspect  and  soft  of 
heart,  stealthily  wiping  her  tears  as  if  ashamed  of  them;  Uncle 
Dawne  sitting  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  face  hidden 
in  his  hands ;  and  Dr.  Galbraith  standing  beside  the  bed  look 
ing  down  on  the  marble  calm  of  the  dead  with  a  face  as  still, 
but  pained  in  expression — Angelica  knew  them  all  so  well,  it 
was  easy  for  her  imagination  to  set  them  before  her  in  charac 
teristic  attitudes  at  such  a  time ;  and  she  was  not  surprised  to 
find  that  they  had  been  friends  of  his  although  no  hint  of  the 
fact  had  ever  reached  her.  They  were  a  loyal  set  in  that  little 
circle,  and  could  keep  counsel  among  themselves,  as  she  knew; 
an  example  which  she  herself  would  have  followed  as  a  matter 
of  course  under  similar  circumstances,  so  surely  does  the  force 
of  early  associations  impel  us  instinctively  to  act  on  the  princi 
ples  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to  see  those  about  us 
habitually  pursue. 

"An*  they  covered  'im  with  flowers,  an*  one  or  other  of 
those  great  ladies  in  the  plainest  black  dresses  with  nothin* 
except  just  white  linen  collar  an'  cuffs,  stayed  with  'im  day  an' 
night  till  they  took  'im  to  'is  long  'ome  yesterday,"  the  woman 
concluded. 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  Angelica's 
heavy  sobs. 

"Can't  I  do  nothin*  for  you,  ma'am?"  the  housekeeper 
asked  at  last. 

"Yes,"  Angelica  answered;  "leave  me  alone  awhile." 

And  the  woman  had  tact  enough  to  obey. 

Then  Angelica  got  up,  and  went  and  knelt  by  the  Tenor's 
empty  chair,  and  laid  her  cheek  against  the  cold  cushion. 

"It  isn't  true,  it  isn't  true,  it  isn't  true,"  she  wailed  again 
and  again,  but  it  was  long  before  she  could  think  at  all;  and 
her  dry  eyes  ached,  for  she  had  no  more  tears  to  shed. 

Presently  she  became  aware  of  a  withered  rose  in  the  hollow 
between  the  seat  of  the  chair  and  the  back.  She  knew  it  must 


5l6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

be  one  of  those  she  had  thrown  at  him  that  night,  perhaps  the 
one  he  had  carelessly  twirled  in  his  hand  while  they  talked, 
now  and  then  inhaling  its  perfume  as  he  listened,  watching  her 
.with  quiet  eyes. 

"Dead!  dead!"  she  whispered,  pressing  the  dry  petals  to 
her  lips. 

Then  she  looked  about  her. 

The  light  of  day,  falling  on  a  scene  which  was  familiar  only 
by  the  subdued  light  of  a  lamp,  produced  an  effect  as  of  chill 
and  bareness.  She  noticed  worn  places  in  the  carpet,  and  a 
certain  shabbiness  from  constant  use  in  everything,  which 
had  not  been  visible  at  night,  and  now  affected  her  in  an  inex 
pressibly  dreary  way.  There  was  very  little  difference  really, 
and  yet  there  was  some  change  which,  as  she  perceived  it,  began 
gradually  to  bring  the  great  change  home  to  her.  There  was 
the  empty  chair,  first  relic  in  importance  and  saddest  in  sig 
nificance.  There  were  his  pipes  neatly  arranged  on  a  little 
fretwork  rack  which  hung  where  bell  handles  are  usually  put 
beside  the  fireplace.  She  remembered  having  seen  him  replace 
one  of  them  the  last  time  she  was  there,  and  now  she  went 
over  and  touched  its  cold  stem,  and  her  heart  swelled.  The 
stand  of  ferns  and  flowers  which  he  had  arranged  with  such 
infinite  pains  to  please  the  "Boy"  stood  in  its  accustomed 
place,  but  ferns  and  flowers  alike  were  dead  or  drooping  in 
their  pots,  untended  and  uncared  for,  and  some  had  been 
taken  away  altogether,  leaving  gaps  on  the  stand,  behind 
which  the  common  grate,  empty,  and  rusted  from  disuse, 
appeared. 

There  was  dust  on  her  violin  case,  and  dust  on  his  grand 
piano — her  violin  which  he  kept  so  carefully.  She  opened  the 
violin  case  expecting  to  find  the  instrument  ruined  by  water. 
But  no!  it  lay  there  snugly  on  its  velvet  cushion  without  a 
scratch  on  its  polished  surface  or  an  injured  string.  She 
understood.  And  perhaps  it  had  been  one  of  his  last  con 
scious  acts  to  put  it  right  for  her.  He  was  always  doing 
something  for  her,  always.  They  said  now  that  his  income 
had  been  insufficient,  or  that  he  gave  too  much  away,  and  that 
the  malady  had  been  rendered  hopeless  from  the  first  by  his 
weakness  for  want  of  food.  The  woman  who  waited  on  him 
had  told  her  so.  "He'd  feed  that  chorister  brat  what  come 
every  morning,"  she  said,  "in  a  way  that  was  shameful,  but 
his  own  breakfast  has  been  dry  bread  and  coffee,  without 
neither  sugar  nor  milk,  for  many  and  many  a  day — and  his 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  517 

dinner  an  ounce  of  meat  at  noon,  with  never  a  bite  nor  sup  to 
speak  of  at  tea,  as  often  as  not." 

"O  Israfil!  Israfil!"  she  moaned  when  she  thought  of  it. 
There  had  always  been  food,  and  wine  too,  for  that  other 
hungry  "Boy,"  food  and  wine  which  the  Tenor  rarely  touched 
— she  remembered  that  now.  To  see  the  "Boy"  eat  and  be 
happy  was  all  he  asked,  and  if  hunger  pinched  him5  he  filled 
his  pipe  and  smoked  till  the  craving  ceased.  She  saw  it  all 
now.  But  why  had  she  never  suspected  it,  she  who  was  roll 
ing  in  wealth?  His  face  was  wan  enough  at  times,  and  worn 
to  that  expression  of  sadness  which  comes  of  privation,  but  the 
reason  had  never  cost  her  a  thought.  And  it  was  all  for  her 
— or  for  "him"  whom  he  believed  to  be  near  and  dear  to  her. 
No  one  else  had  ever  sacrificed  anything  for  her  sake,  no  one 
else  had  ever  cared  for  her  as  he  had  cared,  no  one  else  would 
ever  again.  Oh,  hateful  deception !  She  threw  herself  down 
on  her  knees  once  more. 

"O  Israfil!  Israfil!"  she  cried,  **only  forgive  me,  and  I  will 
be  true!  only  forgive  me,  and  I  will  be  true!" 

It  was  trying  to  rain  outside.  The  wind  swept  down  the 
Close  in  little  gusts,  and  dashed  cold  drops  against  the  window 
pane,  and  in  the  intervals  sprays  of  the  honeysuckle  and 
clematis  tapped  on  the  glass,  and  the  leaves  rustled.  This 
roused  her.  She  had  heard  them  rustle  like  that  on  many  a 
moonlight  night — with  what  a  different  significance!  And  he 
also  used  to  listen  to  them,  and  had  told  her  that  often  when 
he  was  alone  at  night  and  tired,  they  had  sounded  like  voices 
whispering,  and  had  comforted  him,  for  they  had  always  said 
pleasant  things.  Oh,  gentle  loving  heart,  to  which  the  very 
leaves  spoke  peace,  so  spiritually  perfect  was  it!  And  these 
were  the  same  creepers  to  which  he  had  listened,  these  that 
tapped  now  disconsolately,  and  this  was  his  empty  chair— but 
where  was  he?  he  who  was  tender  for  the  tiniest  living  thing 
— who  had  thought  and  cared  for  everyone  but  himself. 
What  was  the  end  of  it  all?  How  had  he  been  rewarded? 
His  hearth  was  cold,  his  little  house  deserted,  and  the  wind 
and  the  rain  swept  over  his  lonely  grave.  ^ 

She  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  She  would  go  to 
his  grave — she  would  find  him. 

While  she  stood  on  the  landing  stage  at  the  Watergate  wait 
ing  for  the  flat  ferry  boat,  which  happened  to  be  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  narrow  river,  to  be  poled  across  to  her,  the  Tenor's 
little  chorister  boy  came  up  and  waited  too.  He  had  a  rustic 


518  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

posy  in  his  hand,  but  there  was  no  holiday  air  in  his  manner; 
on  the  contrary,  he  seemed  unnaturally  subdued  for  a  boy, 
and  Angelica  somehow  knew  who  he  was,  and  conjectured 
that  his  errand  was  the  same  as  her  own.  If  so  he  would  show 
her  the  way. 

The  child  seemed  unconscious  of  her  presence.  He  stepped 
into  the  boat  before  her,  and  they  stood  side  by  side  during 
the  crossing,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  water  and  he  took 
no  notice  of  her.  On  the  other  side  of  the  landing  when  they 
reached  it  was  a  narrow  lane,  a  mere  pathway,  between  a  high 
wall  on  the  one  hand  and  a  high  hedge  on  the  other,  which  led 
up  a  steep  hill  to  a  road,  on  the  other  side  of  which  was  a  cem 
etery.  The  child  followed  this  path,  and  then  Angelica  knew 
that  she  had  been  right  in  her  conjecture,  and  had  only  to 
follow  him.  He  led  her  quite  across  the  cemetery  to  a  quiet 
corner  where  was  an  open  grassy  space  away  from  the  other 
graves.  Two  sides  of  it  were  sheltered  by  great  horse  chest 
nuts,  old  and  umbrageous,  and  from  where  she  stood  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  city  below,  of  the  cathedral  spire 
appearing  above  the  trees,  of  Morne  in  the  same  direction,  a 
crest  of  masonry  crowning  the  wooded  steep,  and,  on  the  other 
side,  the  country  stretching  away  into  a  dim  blue  hazy  dis 
tance.  It  was  a  lovely  spot,  and  she  felt  with  a  jealous  pang 
that  the  care  of  others  had  found  it  for  him.  In  life  or  death 
it  was  all  the  same;  he  owed  her  nothing. 

The  grass  was  trampled  about  the  grave;  there  must  have 
been  quite  a  concourse  of  people  there  the  day  before.  It 
was  covered  with  floral  tokens,  wreaths  and  crosses,  with 
anchors  of  hope  and  hearts  of  love,  pathetic  symbols  at  such 
a  time. 

But  was  he  really  there  under  all  that?  If  she  dug  down 
deep  should  she  find  him? 

The  little  chorister  boy  had  gone  straight  to  the  grave  and 
dropped  on  his  knees  beside  it.  He  looked  at  the  lovely  hot 
house  flowers  and  then  glanced  ruefully  at  his  own  humble 
offering — sweetwilliam  chiefly,  snapdragon,  stocks,  and  nastur 
tium.  But  he  laid  it  there  with  the  rest,  and  Angelica's  heart 
was  wrung  anew  as  she  thought  of  the  tender  pleasure  this 
loving  act  of  the  child  would  have  been  to  the  Tenor.  Yet 
her  eyes  were  dry. 

The  boy  pressed  the  flowers  on  the  grave  as  if  he  would 
nestle  them  closer  to  his  friend,  and  then  all  at  once  as  he 
patted  the  cold  clay  his  lip  trembled,  his  chest  heaved  with 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  519 

sobs,  his  eyes  overflowed  with  tears,  and  his  face  was  puckered 
with  grief. 

Having  accomplished  his  errand,  he  got  up  from  the  ground, 
slapped  his  knees  to  knock  the  clay  off  them,  and,  still  sniffing 
and  sobbing,  walked  back  the  way  he  had  come  in  sturdy 
dejection. 

All  that  was  womanly  in  Angelica  went  out  to  the  poor  little 
fellow.  She  would  like  to  have  comforted  him,  but  what  could 
she  say  or  do?  Alas!  alas!  a  woman  who  cannot  comfort  a 
child,  what  sort  of  a  woman  is  she? 

Presently  she  found  herself  standing  beside  the  river  looking 
up  to  the  iron  bridge  that  crossed  it  with  one  long  span. 
There  were  trees  on  one  side  of  the  bridge,  and  old  houses 
piled  up  on  the  other  picturesquely.  Israfil  had  noticed  them 
the  last  time  they  rowed  down  the  river.  The  evening  was 
closing  in.  The  sky  was  deepening  from  gray  to  indigo. 
There  was  one  bright  star  above  the  bridge.  But  why  had  she 
come  here?  She  had  not  come  to  see  a  bridge  with  one  great 
star  above  it !  nor  to  watch  a  sullen  river  slipping  by — unless, 
indeed —  She  bent  over  the  water,  peering  into  it.  She 
remembered  that  after  the  first  plunge  there  had  been  no  great 
pain — and  even  if  there  had  been,  what  was  physical  pain 
compared  to  this  terrible  heartache,  this  dreadful  remorse,  an 
incurable  malady  of  the  mind  which  would  make  life  a  burden 
to  her  forevermore,  if  she  had  the  patience  to  live  ?  Patience 
and  Angelica !  What  an  impossible  association  of  ideas !  Her 
face  relaxed  at  the  humour  of  it,  and  it  was  with  a  smile  that 
she  turned  to  gather  her  summer  drapery  about  her,  bending 
sideways  to  reach  back  to  the  train  of  her  dress,  as  the  insane 
fashion  of  tight  skirts,  which  were  then  in  vogue,  necessitated. 
In  the  act,  however,  she  became  aware  of  someone  hastening 
after  her,  and  the  next  moment  a  soft  white  hand  grasped  her 
arm  and  drew  her  back. 

"Angelica!  how  can  you  stand  so  near  the  edge  in  this 
uncertain  light?  I  really  thought  you  would  lose  your  balance 
and  fall  in." 

It  was  Lady  Fulda  who  spoke,  uttering  the  words  in  an 
irritated,  almost  angry  tone,  as  mothers  do  when  they  relieve 
their  own  feelings  by  scolding  and  shaking  a  child  that  has 
escaped  with  a  bruise  from  some  danger  to  life  and  limb.  But 
that  was  all  she  ever  said  on  the  subject, and  consequently  Angel 
ica  never  knew  if  she  had  guessed  her  intenion  or  only  been 
startled  by  her  seeming  carelessness,  as  she  professed  to  be. 


520  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.. 

The  sudden  impulse  passed  from  Angelica,  as  is  the  way 
with  morbid  impulses,  the  moment  she  ceased  to  be  alone. 
The  first  word  was  sufficient  to  take  her  out  of  herself,  to  recall 
her  to  her  normal  state,  and  to  readjust  her  view  of  life,  set 
ting  it  back  to  the  proper  focus.  But  still  she  looked  out  at 
the  world  from  a  low  level,  if  healthy;  a  dull,  dead  level,  the 
mean  temperature  of  which  was  chilly,  while  the  atmosphere 
threatened  to  vary  only  from  stagnant  apathy  to  boisterous 
discontent,  positive,  hopeless,  and  unconcealed. 

Moved  by  common  consent,  the  two  ladies  turned  from  the 
river,  and  walked  on  slowly  together  and  in  silence.  The 
feeling  uppermost  in  Angelica's  mind  was  one  of  resentment. 
Her  aunt  had  appeared  in  the  same  unexpected  manner  at  the 
outset  of  her  acquaintance  with  the  Tenor,  and  she  objected 
to  her  reappearance  now,  at  the  conclusion.  It  was  like  an 
incident  in  a  melodrama,  the  arrival  of  the  good  influence — it 
was  absurd  ;  if  she  had  done  it  on  purpose,  it  would  have 
been  impertinent. 

The  entrance  to  Ilverthorpe  was  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  where  they  had  met,  and  they  had  now  reached  a  postern 
which  led  into  the  grounds.  Angelica  opened  it  with  a  latch 
key  and  then  stood  to  let  her  aunt  pass  through  before 
her. 

"I  suppose  you  will  come  in,"  she  said  ungraciously. 

But  Lady  Fulda  forgave  the  discourtesy,  and  the  two  walked 
on  together  up  to  the  house — passing,  while  their  road  lay 
through  the  park,  under  old  forest  trees  that  swayed  continu 
ally  in  a  rising  gale;  and  somewhat  buffeted  by  the  wind  till 
they  came  to  a  narrow  path  sheltered  by  rows  of  tall  shrubs, 
on  the  thick  foliage  of  which  the  rain,  which  had  fallen  at 
intervals  during  the  day,  had  collected,  and  now  splashed  in 
their  faces  or  fell  in  wetting  drops  upon  their  dresses  as  the 
bushes,  struck  by  the  heavy  gusts,  swayed  to  and  fro. 

Angelica,  whose  nervous  system  was  peculiarly  susceptible 
to  discomfort  of  the  kind,  felt  more  wretched  than  ever.  She 
thought  of  the  desolate  grave  with  mud-splashed,  bedraggled 
flowers  upon  it  and  of  the  golden  head  and  beautiful  calm  face 
beneath;  thought  of  him  as  we  are  apt  to  think  of  our  dead  at 
first,  imagining  them  still  sentient,  aware  of  the  horror  of  their 
position,  crushed  into  their  narrow  beds  with  a  terrible  weight 
of  earth  upon  them,  left  out  alone  in  the  cold,  uncomforted 
and  uncared  for,  while  those  they  loved  and  trusted  most 
recline  in  easy  chairs  round  blazing  fires,  talking  forgetfully. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  521 

Something  like  this  flashed  through  Angelica's  mind,  and  a  cry 
as  of  acute  pain  escaped  from  her  unawares. 

Her  companion's  features  contracted  for  a  moment,  but 
otherwise  she  made  no  sign  of  having  heard. 

They  had  not  exchanged  a  word  since  they  had  entered  the 
grounds,  but  now  the  gentle  Lady  Fulda  began  again — with 
some  trepidation,  however,  for  Angelica's  manner  continued 
to  be  chilling,  not  to  say  repellent,  and  she  could  not  tell  how 
her  advances  would  be  received. 

"I  was  looking  for  you,"  she  said. 

"Forme?"  raising  her  eyebrows. 

"Yes.  I  went  to  his  house  this  afternoon  and  hearu  from 
the  housekeeper  that  a  young  lady  had  been  there,  and  I  felt 
sure  from  the  description  and— and  likelihood — that  it  must 
be  you.  She  said  you  had  been  wholly  unprepared  for  the 
dreadful  news,  and  it  had  been  a  great  shock  to  you.  And  I 
thought  you  would  probably  go  to  see  his  grave.  It  is  always 
one's  first  impulse.  And  I  was  going  to  look  for  you  there 
when  I  sa,w  you  in  the  distance  on  the  towing  path." 

Angelica  preserved  her  ungracious  silence,  but  her  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  way  in  which  her  aunt  spoke  of  the  Tenor, 
in  regard  to  herself,  apparently  as  if  she  had  known  of  their 
intimacy.     Lady  Fulda  resumed,  however,   before   Angelica 
had  asked  herself  how  this  could  be. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  a  very  meddling  person,'* 
she  said,  speaking  to  her  young  niece  with  the  respect  and 
unassuming  diffidence  of  high  breeding  and  good  feeling;  "but 
perhaps  you  know — how  one  fancies  that  one  can  do  some 
thing — or  say  something — or  that  one  ought  to  try  to.  I 
believe  it  is  a  comfort  to  one's  self  to  be  allowed  to  try." 

"Yes,"  Angelica  assented,  thinking  of  her  desire  to  help 
the  child,  and  thawing  with  interest  at  this  expression  of  an 
experience  similar  to  her  own.  "I  felt  something  of  that— a 
while  ago." 

They  had  reached  the  house  by  this  time,  and  Angelica 
ushered  her  aunt  in,  then  led  her  to  the  drawing  room  where 
she  herself  usually  sat,  the  one  that  opened  onto  the  terrace. 
This  was  the  sheltered  side  of  the  house  that  day,  and  the 
windows  stood  wide  open,  making  the  room  as  fresh  as  the 
outer  air.  They  sat  themselves  down  at  one  of  them  from 
which  they  could  see  the  tops  of  trees  swaying  immediately 
beneath,  and  further  off  the  river,  then  the  green  upland 
terminating  in  a  distance  of  wooded  hills. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"I  always  think  this  is  prettier  than  the  view  from  Morne, 
although  not  so  fine,'*  Lady  Fulda  remarked  tentatively.  She 
was  a  little  afraid  of  the  way  in  which  Angelica  in  her  present 
mood  might  receive  any  observation  of  hers,  however  inoffen 
sive.  She  had  been  looking  out  of  the  window  when  she  spoke, 
but  the  silence  which  followed  caused  her  to  turn  and  look  at 
Angelica.  The  latter  had  risen  for  some  purpose — she  could 
not  remember  what — and  now  stood  staring  before  her  in  a 
dazed  way. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well,  dear,*'  Lady  Fulda  said, 
taking  her  hand  affectionately. 

"Oh,  I  am  well  enough,"  Angelica  answered,  almost  snatch 
ing  her  hand  away,  and  making  a  great  effort  to  control 
another  tempest  of  tears  which  threatened  to  overwhelm  her. 
"But  don't — don't  expect  me  to  be  polite — or  anything — 

to-day.  You  don't  know "  She  took  a  turn  up  and 

down  the  room,  and  then  the  trouble  of  her  mind  betrayed 
her.  "O  Aunt  Fulda!"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands, 
and  wringing  them,  "I  have  done  such  a  dreadful  thing!** 

"I  know,"  was  the  unexpected  rejoinder. 

Angelica's  hands  dropped,  and  she  stared  at  her  aunt,  her 
'thoughts  taking  a  new  departure  under  the  shock  of  this  sur 
prise.  "  Did  he  tell  you?"  she  demanded. 

"No,"  Lady  Fulda  stammered.  "I  saw  you  with  him — 
several  times.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  Diavolo,  and  I  did 
not  wonder,  he  is  so  naughty — or  rather  he  used  to  be.  But 
when  I  asked  with  whom  he  was  staying,  everybody  was 
amazed,  and  maintained  that  he  had  not  been  in  the  neighbour 
hood  at  all.  So  I  wrote  to  him  at  Sandhurst,  and  his  reply- 
convinced  me  that  I  must  have  been  mistaken.  Then  I  began 
to  suspect.  In  fact  I  was  sure '* 

Lady  Fulda  spoke  nervously,  and  with  her  accustomed 
simplicity,  but  Angelica  felt  the  fascination  of  the  singular 
womanly  power  which  her  aunt  exercised,  and  resented  it. 

"Is  that  all!*'  she  said  defiantly.  "Why  didn't  you 
interfere?'* 

"For  one  thing,  because  I  did  not  like  to." 

"Why?" 

"On  your  account." 

"Did  you  know  I  was  deceiving  him?** 

"Yes — or  you  would  not  have  been  with  him  under  such 
circumstances,"  Lady  Fulda  rejoined;  "and  then — I  thought, 
upon  the  whole,  it  was  better  not  to  interfere" — she  broke  off, 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  523 

recurring  once  more  to  Angelica's  question.  "I  was  sure  he 
would  find  you  out  sooner  or  later,  and  then  I  knew  he  would 
do  what  was  right;  and  in  the  meantime  the  companionship  of 
such  a  man  under  any  circumstances  was  good  for  you." 

"You  seem  to  know  him  very  well." 

"Yes,"  Lady  Fulda  answered.  "He  was  at  the  University 
with  your  Uncle  Dawne  and  George  Galbraith.  They  were 
great  friends,  and  used  to  come  to  the  castle  a  good  deal  at 
that  time,  but  eventually  Julian's  visits  had  to  be  discon 
tinued." 

Lady  Fulda  coloured  painfully  as  she  made  this  last  state 
ment,  and  Angelica,  always  apt  to  put  two  and  two  together, 
instantly  inserted  this  last  fragment  into  an  imperfect  story  she 
possessed  of  a  love  affair  and  disappointment  of  her  aunt's, 
and  made  the  tale  complete. 

She  had  heard  that 

.    .   .    never  maiden  glow*dt 
But  that  was  in  her  earlier  maidenhood, 
With  such  a  fervent  flame  of  human  love, 
Which  being  rudely  blunted  glanced  and  shot 
Only  to  holy  things  ;  to  prayer  and  praise 
She  gave  herself,  to  fast  and  alms. 

They  must  have  been  about  the  same  age,  Angelica  reflected, 
as  she  examined  the  lineless  perfection  of  Lady  Fulda's  face, 
and  then  there  glanced  through  her  mind  a  vision  of  what 
might  have  been — what  ought  to  have  been  as  it  seemed  to 
her:  "But  why  should  he  have  been  banished  from  the  castle 
because  you  cared  for  him?"  she  asked  point  blank. 

Lady  Fulda's  confusion  increased.  "That  was  not  the 
reason,"  she  faltered,  making  a  brave  effort  to  confide  in 
Angelica  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  latter's  confidence  in 
return.  "There  was  a  dreadful  mistake.  Your  grandfather 
thought  he  was  paying  attention  to  me,  and  spoke  to  him 
about  it,  telling  him  I  should  not  be  allowed  to  marry — 
beneath  me;  and  Julian  said,  not  meaning  any  affront  to  me,— 
never  dreaming  that  I  cared, — that  he  had  not  intended  to  ask 
me,  which  made  my  father  angry  and  unreasonable,  and  he 
scolded  me  because  he  had  made  a  mistake.  Men  do  that, 
dear,  you  know;  they  have  so  little  sense  of  justice  and  self- 
control.  And  I  had  little  self-control  in  those  days,  either. 
And  I  retorted  and  told  my  father  he  had  spoilt  my  life,  for  I 
thought  it  would  have  been-  different  if  he  had  not  interfered. 
However,  I  don't  know";  she  sighed  regretfully.  "But  when 


524  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

such  absolute  uncertainty  prevailed  it  was  impossible  to  say 

that  Julian  was  beneath  me  by  birth,  and  as  to  position 

But,  there"— she  broke  off,  "of  course  he  never  came  amongst 
us  any  more." 

"Otherwise  I  should  have  known  him  all  my  life,"  Angelica 
exclaimed,  "and  there  would  have  been  none  of  this  misery." 

They  had  returned  to  their  seats,  and  she  sat  now  frowning 
for  some  seconds,  then  asked  her  aunt:  "Does  Uncle  Dawne 
know — did  you  tell  him  about  my  escapade?" 

"No." 

"You  are  a  singularly  reticent  person." 

"I  am  a  singularly  sore-hearted  one,"  Lady  Fulda  answered, 
"and  very  full  of  remorse,  for  I  think  now — I  might  have  done 
something — to  prevent "  she  stammered. 

"The  fin  il  catastrophe,"  Angelica  concluded.  "Then  you 
are  laying  his  death  at  my  door?" 

"Oh,  no;  Heaven  forbid!"  her  aunt  protested. 

A  long  pause  ensued,  which  was  broken  by  Lady  Fulda 
rising. 

"It  is  time  I  returned,"  she  said.  "Come  back  with  me  to 
Morne.  It  will  be  less  miserable  for  you  than  staying  here 
alone  to-night." 

Angelica  looked  up  at  her  for  a  second  or  two  with  a  per 
fectly  blank  countenance,  then  rose  slowly.  "How  do  you 
propose  to  return?"  she  asked. 

"I  had  not  thought  of  that — I  left  the  carriage  in  Morning- 
quest,"  Lady  Fulda  answered. 

"Really,  Aunt  Fulda,"  Angelica  snapped,  then  rang  the  bell 
impatiently;  "you  can't  walk  back  to  Morningquest,  and  be 
in  time  for  dinner  at  the  castle  also,  I  should  think.  The 
carriage  immediately,"  this  was  to  the  man  who  had  answered 
the  bell. 

"You  will  accompany  me?"  Lady  Fulda  meekly  pleaded. 

"I  suppose  so,"  was  the  ungracious  rejoinder — "that  is  if 
you  will  decide  for  me.  I  am  tired  of  action.  I  just  want 
to  drift." 

"Come,  then,"  said  Lady  Fulda  kindly. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWltfS.  525 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  AM  tired  of  action,  I  just  want  to  drift.  I  am  tired  of 
action,  I  just  want  to  drift,"  this  was  the  new  refrain  which 
set  itself  as  an  accompaniment  to  Angelica's  thoughts.  She 
was  tired  of  thinking  too,  but  thought  ran  on,  an  inexhausti 
ble  stream;  and  the  more  passive  she  became  to  the  will  of 
others  outwardly,  the  more  active  was  her  mind. 

She  leant  back  languidly  in  the  carriage  beside  her  aunt  as 
they  drove  together  through  the  city  to  Morne,  and  remained 
silent  the  whole  time,  and  motionless,  all  but  her  eyes,  which 
roved  incessantly  from  object  to  object  while  she  inwardly 
rendered  an  account  to  herself  of  each,  and  of  her  own  state 
of  mind;  keeping  up  disjointed  comments,  quotations,  and 
reflections  consciously,  but  without  power  to  check  the  flow. 

There  were  a  few  blessed  moments  of  oblivion  caused  by 
the  bustle  of  their  departure  from  the  house,  then  Angelica 
looked  up,  and  instantly  her  intellect  awoke.  They  were 
driving  down  the  avenue — "The  green  leaves  rustle  overhead," 
was  the  first  impression  that  formulated  itself  into  words. 
"The  carriage  wheels  roll  rhythmically.  Every  faculty  is  on 
the  alert.  There  is  something  unaccustomed  in  the  aspect  of 
things — things  familiar — this  once  familiar  scene.  A  new 
point  of  view;  the  change  is  in  me.  We  used  to  ride  down 
that  lane.  Blackberries.  The  day  I  found  a  worm  in  one.. 
Ugh !  Diavolo,  Diavolo — no  longer  in  touch — a  hundred  thou 
sand  miles  away — what  does  it  matter?  I  am  tired  of  action, 
I  just  want  to  drift.  I  am  tired  of  action ;  I  just  want  to 
drift,  just  want  to  drift — drifting  now  to  Morne — a  restful 
place;  but  I  shall  drift  from  thence  again.  Whither?  Better 
be  steered — no,  though.  I  am  not  a  wooden  ship  to  be 
steered,  but  a  human  soul  with  a  sacred  individuality  to  be 
preserved,  and  the  grand  right  of  private  judgment.  What 
happens  when  such  ennobling  privileges  are  sacrificed? 
Demon  worship — grandpapa. 

"The  old  duke  sat  in  his  velvet  cap  in  a  carved  oak  chair  in 
the  oriel  room— nonsense!  And  Aunt  Fulda.  As  passive  as 
a  cow.  Is  she  though?  Is  Angelica  as  passive  as  a  cow  for 
all  that  she's  so  still?  Poor  Daddy!  Drudging  at  the  House 
just  now,  not  thinking  of  me.  I  hope  not.  Do  I  hope  not? 
No,  he  belongs  to  me,  and— I  do  care  for  him.  The  kind 
eyes,  the  kind  caress,  the  kind  thought,  4 Angelica,  dear- 


526  fffE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

0  Daddy!     I'm   sorry  I  tormented  you— sorry,  sorry — The 
lonely  grave,  the  lonely  grave— O  Israfil!     'Dead,  dead,  long 
dead,  and  my  heart  is  a  handful  of  dust.'     The  horses'  hoofs 
beat  out  the  measure  of  my  misery.     The  green  leaves  rustle 
overhead.     The  air  is  delicious  after  the  rain.     The  dust  is 
laid.     Only  this  afternoon.     I  went  to  see  him;  what  was  I 
thinking  of?     Can   I  bring  him    back   again?     Never  again! 
Never  again !     Only  this  afternoon,  but  time  is  not  measured 
by  minutes.     Time  is  measured  by  the  consciousness  of  it. 
'He's  dead,  miss — haven't  you  heard?  and  buried  yesterday.' 
*  Dead,  dead,  long  dead— 

"  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
The  best  conditioned  and  unwearied  spirit 
In  doing  courtesies. 

"On  through  the  dim  rich  city.  A  pretty  girl  and  poor. 
Do  you  envy  me,  my  dear?  Stare  at  me  hard.  I  am  a  rich 
lady,  you  see,  asked  everywhere : 

"  The  daughter  of  a  hundred  Earls, 
You  are  not  one  to  be  desired. 

"The  Palace— poor  Edith !  Here  we  are  at  the  Castle  Hill 
— and  that  idiot  Aunt  Fulda  has  forgotten  her  carriage.  Shall 

1  remind  her?     There  is  still  time  to  turn  back.     No,  don't 
trouble  yourself.     'Let  them  alone  and  they'll  come  home.' 
I  wish  I  had  no  memory.     It  is  a  perfect  nuisance  to  have  to 
think  in  inverted  commas  all  the  time.     And  Shakespeare  is  the 
greatest  bore  of  all.     The  whole  of  life  could  be  set  to  his 
expressions — that  cannot  be  quite  right;    what  I  mean  is  the 
whole  of  life  could  be  expressed  in  his  words.     Diavolo  and 
I  tried  once  to  talk  Shakespeare  for  a  whole  day.     I  made  the 
game.     But  Diavolo  could  remember  nothing  but  'To  be  or 
not  to  be,'  which  went  no  way  at  all  when  he  tried  to  live  on 
it,  so  he  said  Shakespeare  was  rot  and  I  pulled  his  hair- — I  wish 
I   could    stop    thinking — suspend    my    thoughts — The    pine 
woods: 

"  From  the  top  of  the  upright  pine 
The  snowlumps  fall  with  a  thud, 
Come  from  where  the  sunbeams  shine 
To  lie  in  the  heart  of  the  mud — 

The  heart  of  the  mud,  the  heart  of  the  mud— Oh,  for  oblivion! 
Nirvana — 'The  Dewdrop  slips  into  the  shining  sea' — We're 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  527 

slipping  into  the  courtyard  of  the  castle.  How  many  weary 
women,  women  waiting,  happy  women,  despairing  women, 
thoughtful  women,  thoughtless  women,  have  those  rows  of 
.  winking  windows  eyed  as  they  entered?  Women  are  much 
more  interesting  than  men— The  lonely  grave,  the  lonely 

grave " 

"Angelica!"  Lady  Fulda  exclaimed  as  they  drew  up  at  the 
door,  "I've  left  the  carriage  in  Morningquest!" 
"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Angelica. 
"My  dear  child,  why  didn't  you  remind  me?" 
Angelica  shrugged  her  shoulders.      "Let  them  alone  and 
they'll  come  home,"  recurred  to  her,  and  then:  "I  must  be 
more  gracious.     Aunt  Fulda"— aloud—" who  are  here?" 

"Your  Uncle  Dawne " 

"And  Co.,  I  suppose!"  Angelica  concluded  derisively. 
"Your  Aunt  Claudia  and  her  friend  are  also  here,"  Lady 
Fulda  corrected  her  with  dignity. 

"Not  exactly  a  successful  attempt  to  be  gracious,"  Angeli 
ca's  thoughts  ran  on.  "Ah,  well!  What  does  it  matter? 
Live  and  let  live,  forget  and  forgive — forgetting  is  forgiving, 
and  everyone  forgets" — and  then  again  piano — "The  lonely 
grave,  the  lonely  grave. ' ' 

At  dinner  she  sat  beside  her  grandfather;  her  uncle  being 
opposite,  silent  and  serious  as  usual.  But  they  were  all  sub 
dued  that  night  except  the  old  duke,  who,  unaware  of  any 
cause  for  their  painful  preoccupation,  and  glad  to  see  Angel 
ica,  who  roused  him  as  a  rule  with  her  wonderful  spirits, 
chatted  inconsequently.  But  Angelica's  unnatural  quietude 
could  not  escape  the  attention  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  and 
inquiring  glances  were  directed  to  Lady  Fulda,  in  the  calm  of 
whose  passionless  demeanour,  however,  there  was  no  con 
sciousness  of  anything  unusual  to  be  read;  and  of  course  no 
questions  were  asked. 

In  the  drawing  room,  after  dinner,  Angelica  sat  on  a  velvet 
cushion  at  her  uncle's  feet,  and  rested  her  head  against  his 
knee.  Close  beside  her  there  was  a  long  narrow  mirror  let  into 
the  wall  of  the  room  like  a  panel,  and  in  this  she  could  see 
herself  and  him  reflected.  At  first  she  turned  from  the  group 
impatiently;  but  presently  she  looked  again,  and  began  to 
study  her  uncle's  appearance  with  conscious  deliberation.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  never  seen  him  before  and  was  receiving  a 
first  impression. 

Lord  Dawns  was  one  of  those  men  who  make  one  think  of 


528  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

another  and  more  picturesque  age.  He  would  have  looked 
natural  in  black  velvet  and  point  lace.  He  was  about  five  and 
thirty  at  that  time,  to  judge  by  his  appearance— tall,  well-made, 
and  strong  with  the  slim  strength  of  a  race  horse,  all  superflu 
ous  flesh  and  bone  bred  out  of  him.  His  skin  was  dark,  clear, 
and  colourless;  his  hair  black,  wavy,  and  abundant;  his  eyes 
deep  blue,  a  contrast  inherited  from  an  Irish  mother.  "A 
Spanish  hidalgo  in  appearance,"  Angelica  decided  at  this 
point. 

It  was  a  sad  face,  as  high-bred  faces  often  are.  You  would 
not  have  been  surprised  to  hear  that  his  life  had  been  blighted 
at  the  outset  by  some  great  sorrow  or  disappointment.  But  it 
was  a  strong  face  too,  the  face  of  a  manly  man,  you  would 
have  said,  and  of  one  with  self-denial,  courage,  endurance, 
and  devotion  enough  for  a  hero  and  a  martyr. 

"Angelica,"  her  grandfather  broke  in  upon  her  reflections 
with  kindly  concern.  "You  look  pale.  Do  you  not  feel  well, 
my  dear  child?" 

"Not  exactly,  thank  you,"  Angelica  answered  mendaciously, 
with  formal  politeness,  hoping  thereby  to  save  herself  the 
annoyance  of  further  remarks;  then  inwardly  added,  "sick  at 
heart,  in  very  truth,"  to  save  her  conscience,  which  was  pain 
fully  sensitive  just  then.  When  anyone  addressed  her, 
thought  was  suspended  by  the  effort  to  answer,  after  which 
the  rush  returned,  but  the  current  had  usually  set  in  a  new 
direction,  as  was  now  the  case.  Her  uncle,  as  seen  in  the  mir 
ror,  gave  place,  when  she  had  spoken,  to  the  Tenor's  long  low 
room  as  she  had  seen  it  that  afternoon;  "The  light  shone  in 
and  showed  'the  shabby  places.  Should  the  light  be  shut  out 
to  conceal  what  is  wrong?  Oh,  no!  Show  up,  expose,  make 
evident.  Let  in  knowledge,  the  light " 

But  here  her  grandfather  arose.  The  evening  was  to  end 
with  service  in  the  chapel.  "Will  you  come,  Angelica?"  he 
asked.  "Do  you  feel  equal  to  the  exertion?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Angelica  answered  indifferently,  letting  herself 
go  again  to  drift  with  the  stream. 

The  private  chapel  at  Morne  was  lavishly  decorated,  an 
ideal  shrine  the  beauty  of  which  alone  would  have  inclined 
your  heart  to  prayer  and  praise  by  reason  of  the  pleasure  it 
gave  you,  and  of  the  desire,  which  is  always  a  part  of  this  form 
of  pleasure,  to  express  your  gratitude  in  some  sort. 

On  this  occasion  the  altar  was  brilliantly  illuminated,  and 
as  she  passed  in  before  Lord  Dawne,  she  was  attracted  like  a 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  529 

child  by  the  light,  and  stationed  herself  so  as  to  see  it  fully 
admiring  it  as  a  spectator,  but  only  so.  The  scene,  although 
familiar,  was  always  impressive,  being  so  beautiful;  and  as 
she  settled  herself  on  a  chair  apart  her  spirit  revived  under  its 
influence  enough  io  enable  her  to  entertain  the  hope  that,  by 
force  of  habit  and  association,  that  sensation  of  well-being 
which  is  due  to  the  refined  and  delicate  flattery  of  the  senses, 
a  soothing  without  excitement,  merging  in  content,  and  restful 
to  the  verge  of  oblivion,  would  steal  over  her  and  gradually 
possess  her  to  the  exclusion  of  all  importunate  and  painful 
thought.  And  this  was  what  happened. 

It  came  at  a  pause  in  the  service  when  the  people  bent  their 
heads,  and  seemed  to  wait;  or  rather  followed  upon  that 
impressive  moment  as  did  the  organ  prelude,  and  the  first 
notes  of  a  glorious  voice — the  voice  of  a  woman  who  suddenly 
sang. 

Angelica  looked  up  amazed  by  the  fervour  of  it,  while  a 
feeling,  not  new,  but  strange  from  its  intensity,  took  possession 
of  her,  steeping  her  soul  in  bliss,  a  feeling  that  made  her  both 
tremble  and  be  glad.  She  thought  no  more  of  the  lonely 
grave,  but  of  an  angel  in  ecstasy,  an  angel  in  heaven.  She 
looked  around,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  altar,  she  tried  to 
seize  upon  some  idea  which  should  continue  with  her,  and  be 
a  key  with  which  she  could  unlock  this  fountain  of  joy  here 
after  when  she  would.  She  almost  felt  for  the  moment  as  if 
it  would  be  worthy  to  grovel  for  such  opium  at  the  knees  of  an 
oleosaccharine  priest  and  contribute  to  his  support  forever. 
She  tried  to  think  of  something  to  which  to  compare  the  feel 
ing,  but  in  vain.  In  the  effort  to  fix  it  her  mind  and  mem- 
ory  became  a  blank,  and  for  a  blissful  interval  she  could  not 
think,  she  could  only  feel.  Then  came  the  inevitable  moment 
of  grateful  acknowledgment  when  her  senses  brought  of  their 
best  to  pay  for  their  indulgence — their  best  on  this  occasion 
being  that  vow  to  Israfil  which  presently  she  found  herself 
renewing.  She  would  indeed  be  true. 

After  this  surfeit  of  sensuous  distraction  she  ^retired  to  her 
room,  the  old  room,  as  far  away  from  Diavolo's  as  possible, 
which  she  had  always  occupied  at  the  castle.  She  dismissed 
her  maid,  and  sat  down  to  think;  but  she  was  suffering  from 
nervous  irritability  by  this  time,  and  could  not  rest.  She  drew 
up  a  blind  and  looked  out  of  the  open  window.  The  night 
was  calm,  the  air  was  freshly  caressing,  a  crescent  moon  hung 
in  the  indigo  sky,  and  there  were  stars,  bright  stars.  Up  from 


530  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

the  pine  woods  which  clothed  the  castle  hill  balsamic  airs  were 
wafted,  and  murmurs  came  as  of  voices  inviting — friendly 
voices  of  nature  claiming  a  kinship  with  her,  which  she  herself 
had  recognized  from  her  earliest  childhood.  Out  there  in  the 
open  was  the  unpolluted  altar  at  which  she  was  bidden  to 
worship,  and  in  view  of  that,  with  the  healthy  breath  of  night 
expanding  her  lungs  revivingly,  she  felt  that  her  late  experi 
ences,  in  the  midst  of  perfumes  too  sweet  to  be  wholesome, 
and  with  the  help  of  accessaries  too  luxurious  to  be  anything 
but  enervating,  had  been  degrading  to  that  better  part  of  her 
to  which  the  purity  and  peace  of  night  appealed.  She  would 
go  shrive  herself  in  haunted  solitudes,  and  listen  to  the  voice 
which  spoke  to  her  heart  alone,  saying  "Only  be  true,"  in  the 
silence  of  those  scenes  incomparable  which  tend  to  reverence, 
promote  endeavour,  and  prolong  love. 

She  went  to  her  door,  opened  it,  looked  out,  and  listened. 
The  corridor  was  all  in  darkness;  an  excessive  silence  per 
vaded  the  place;  the  whole  household  had  apparently  retired. 

With  confident  steps,  although  in  the  dark,  Angelica  went  to 
Diavolo's  room,  and  presently  returned  with  a  suit  of  his 
clothes.  These  she  put  on,  and  then,  without  haste,  went 
downstairs,  crossed  the  hall,  opened  a  narrow  door  which  led 
into  a  dark,  damp,  flagged  passage,  along  which  she  groped 
for  some  distance,  then  descended  a  crooked  stone  staircase 
at  the  foot  of  which  was  a  heavy  door.  This  she  opened  with 
a  key,  careless  of  the  noise  she  made,  and  found  herself  out  in 
the  open  air,  under  the  stars,  on  a  gravel  walk,  with  a  broad 
lawn  stretched  before  her.  She  stood  a  moment,  breathing 
deeply  in  pure  enjoyment  of  the  air,  then  "put  up  both  hands 
to  rearrange  a  little  cloth  cap  she  wore  which  was  slipping 
from  off  her  abundant  hair.  Then  she  threw  up  her  arms  and 
stretched  every  limb  in  the  joy  of  perfect  freedom  from 
restraint;  and  then  with  strong  bounds  she  cleared  the  grassy 
space,  dashed  down  a  rocky  step,  and  found  herself  a  substance 
amongst  the  shadows  out  in  the  murmuring  woods. 

When  she  returned  she  was  making  less  vigorous  demonstra 
tions  of  superabundant  strength  and  vitality,  but  still  her  step 
was  swift,  firm,  and  elastic;  and  she  was  running  up  the  grand 
staircase  from  the  hall  when  she  saw  that  the  door  at  the  top, 
leading  into  the  suite  of  rooms  occupied  by  Lord  Dawne  when 
he  was  at  the  oastle,  was  wide  open,  showing  the  room  beyond, 
brilliantly  lighted. 

She  would  have  to  pass  that  open  door  or  stay  downstairs 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  531 

till  it  was  shut;  but  the  latter  she  did  not  feel  inclined  to  do, 
so,  with  scarcely  a  pause  to  nerve  herself  for  what  might  hap 
pen,  she  continued  rapidly  to  ascend  the  stairs. 

As  she  expected,  when  she  reached  the  top,  her  jincle 
appeared. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed  in  surprise,  seeing  Diavolo  as  he  sup 
posed  emerging  from  the  darkness.  "I  thought  it  was  Angel 
ica's  step.  I  fancied  I  heard  her  go  dpwn  some  time  ago,  and 
I  have  been  waiting  for  her.  She  complained  of  not  feeling 
well  this  evening,  and  I  thought  she  might  possibly  want 
something.  Come  in."  He  had  turned  to  lead  the  way  as  he 
spoke.  "By-the-bye, ' '  he  broke  off,  "what  are  you  doing  here, 
you  young  rascal?" 

Angelica,  overcome  by  one  of  her  mischievous  impulses, 
and  grinning  broadly,  boldly  followed  her  uncle  into  the 
room. 

"I  had  forgotten  for  a  moment  that  you  ought  not  to  be 
here,  it  is  so  natural  to  find  you  marauding  about  the  place  at 
night,"  he  pursued,  bending  down  to  adjust  the  wick  of  a 
lamp  that  was  flaring  as  he  spoke.  Angelica  sat  down,  and 
coolly  waited  for  him  to  turn  and  look  at  her,  which  he  did 
when  he  had  done  with  the  lamp,  meeting  her  dark  eyes 
unsuspectingly  at  first,  then  with  fixed  attention  inquiringly. 

"Angelica!"  he  exclaimed.     "How  can  you!" 

"I  have  been  out  in  the  woods,"  she  rejoined  with  her 
accustomed  candour.  "The  suffocating  fumes  of  incense  and 
orthodoxy  overpowered  me  in  the  chapel,  and  I  was  miserable 
besides — soul-sick.  But  the  fresh  air  is  a  powerful  tonic,  and 
it  has  exhilarated  me,  the  stars  have  strengthened  me,  the 
voices  of  the  night  spoke  peace  to  me,  and  the  pleasant  creat 
ures,  visible  and  invisible,  gave  me  welcome  as  one  of  them 
selves,  and  showed  me  how  to  attain  to  their  joy  in  life." 
She  bent  forward  to  brush  some  fresh  earth  from  the  leg  of 
her  trousers.  "But  you  would  have  me  forego  these  innocent, 
healthy-minded,  invigorating  exercises,  I  suppose,  because  I 
am  a  woman,"  she  pursued.  "You  would  allow  Diavolo  to 
disport  himself  so  at  will,  and  approve  rather  than  object, 
although  he  is  not  so  strong  as  I  am.  And  then  these  clothes, 
which  are  decent  and  convenient  for  him,  besides  being  a 
greater  protection  than  any  you  permit  me  to  wear,  you  think 
immodest  for  me — you  mass  of  prejudice." 

Lord  Dawne  made  no  reply.  He  had  taken  a  seat,  and 
remained  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor  for  some  seconds 


532  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

after  she  had  spoken.  There  was  neither  agreement  nor  dis 
sent  in  his  attitude,  however ;  he  was  simply  reflecting. 

"What  is  it,  Angelica?"  he  said  at  last,  looking  her  full  in 
the  face. 

"What  is  what?"  she  asked  defiantly. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  answered.  "There  is  something 
wrong,  I  see,  and  if  it  is  anything  that  you  would  like  to  talk 
about — I  don't  pretend  to  offer  you  advice,  but  sometimes 
when  one  speaks — you  know,  however,  what  a  comfort  it  is  to 
'talk  a  thing  out,'  as  you  used  to  call  it  when  you  were  a  little 
girl."  He  looked  at  her  and  smiled.  When  she  entered  the 
room  fresh  from  the  open  air  a  brilliant  colour  glowed  in  her 
cheeks,  but  now  she  was  pale  to  her  lips,  which,  perceiving, 
caused  him  to  rise  hastily,  and  add:  "But  I  am  afraid  you 
have  tired  yourself,  and" — glancing  at  the  clock — "it  is  nearly 
breakfast  time.  I'll  go  and  get  you  something." 

After  a  considerable  interval  he  returned  with  a  tray  upon 
which  was  a  plentiful  variety  of  refreshments,  prawns  in  aspic 
jelly,  cold  chicken  and  tongue,  a  freshly  opened  tin  of  patt 
de  foie  gras,  cake,  bread,  butter,  and  champagne. 

"I  think  I've  brought  everything,"  he  remarked,  surveying 
the  tray  complacently  when  he  had  put  it  down  upon  a  table 
beside  her. 

"You've  forgotten  the  salt,"  snapped  Angelica. 

His  complacency  vanished,  and  he  retired  apologetically  to 
remedy  the  omission. 

"Do  you  remember  the  night  you  and  Diavolo  taught  me 
where  to  find  food  in  my  father's  house?"  he  asked  when  he 
returned. 

"Yes,"  Angelica  answered  with  a  grin;  and  then  she 
expanded  into  further  reminiscences  of  that  occasion,  by  which 
time  she  was  in  such  a  good  humour  that  she  began  to  feel 
hungry,  and  under  the  stimulating  influences  of  food  and 
champagne  she  told  her  uncle  the  whole  story  of  her  intimacy 
with  the  Tenor. 

Lord  Dawne  listened  with  interest,  but  almost  in  silence. 
The  occasion  was  not  one,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  which  it 
would  be  well  to  improve.  He  discussed  the  matter  with  her, 
however,  as  well  as  he  could  without  offering  her  advice  or 
expressing  an  opinion  of  her  conduct;  and,  in  consequence  of 
this  wise  forbearance  on  his  part,  she  found  herself  the  better 
in  every  way  for  the  interview. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  533 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A  NGELICA  awoke  unrefreshed  after  a  few  hours  of  light 
£\  and  restless   sleep,   much   broken   by  dreams.      "Dead! 
dead!"    was   the   first   thought   in    her   mind,    but    it   came 
unaccompanied    by   any   feeling.      "Is   Israfil  really   dead- 
buried—gone   from  us  all  forever?"  she  asked  herself  in  a 
kind  of  wonder.     It  was  not  at  the  thought  of  his  death  that 
she  was  wondering,  however,  but  because  the  recollection  of  it 
did  not  move  her  in  any  way.     Reflections  which  had  caused 
her  the  sharpest  misery  only  yesterday  recurred  to  her  now 
without  affecting  her  in  the  least  degree — except  in  that  they 
made  her  feel  herself  to  be  a  kind  of  monster  of  callousness, 
coldness,  and  egotism.     The  lonely  grave,  looking  deserted 
already,  with   the  rain-bespattered,   mud-bedraggled    flowers 
fading  upon  it;  the  man  himself  as  she  had  known  him;  his 
goodness,  his  kindness,  the  disinterested  affection  he  had  lav 
ished  upon  her — she  dwelt  upon  these  things;  she  racked  her 
brain    to   recall    them   in   order  to   reawaken    her  grief  and 
remorse,  but  in  vain.     Mind  and  memory  responded  to  the 
effort,  but  her  own  heart  she  could  not  touch.     The  acute 
stage  was  over  for  the  moment,  and  a  most  distressing  numb 
ness,  attended  by  a  sense  of  chilliness  and  general  physical 
discomfort,  had  succeeded  it.     The  rims  of  her  eyes  were  red 
and  the  lids  still  swollen  by  the  tears  of  the  day  before;  but 
the  state  of  weeping,   with  the  nervous  energy  and  mental 
excitement  which  had  been  the  first  consequence  of  the  shock, 
was  a  happy  one  compared  with  the  dry  inhuman  apathy  of 
this,  and  she  strove  to  recall  it,  but  only  succeeded  in  adding 
the  old  sensation  of  discontent  with  everything  as  it  is  and 
nothing  is  worth  while   to  her  already  deep  depression.     She 
loved  order  and  regularity  in  a  household,  but  now  the  very 
thought  of  the  old  accustomed  dull  routine  of  life  at  the  castle 
exasperated  her.     After  her  grandfather  would  come  her  uncle, 
and  after  him  in  all  human  probability  Diavolo  would  succeed, 
and  there  would  be  a  long  succession  of  solemn  servants,  each 
attending  to  the  same  occupations  which  had  been  carried  on 
by  other  servants  in  the  same  place  for  hundreds  of  years; 
horrible  monotony,  all  tending  to  nothing!     For  she  saw  as  in 
a  vision  the  end  of  the  race  to  which  she  belonged.     They  and 
their  like  were  doomed,   and,  with  them,  the  distinguished 
(    bearing,  the   high-bred   reserve,    the   refined    simplicity  and 


534  THE  HEAVENLY  TWttfS. 

dignity  of  manner  which  had  held  them  above  the  common 
herd,  a  class  apart,  until  she  came,  were  also  doomed.  "I  am 
of  the  day,"  she  said  to  herself;  "the  vulgar  outcome  of  a 
vulgar  era,  bred  so,  I  suppose,  that  I  may  see  through  others, 
which  is  to  me  the  means  of  self-defence.  I  see  that  in  this 
dispute  of  'womanly  or  unwomanly,'  the  question  to  be  asked 
is,  not  'What  is  the  pursuit?'  but  'What  are  the  proceeds?' 
No  social  law-maker  ever  said  'Catch  me  letting  a  woman  into 
anything  that  pays!'  It  was  left  for  me  to  translate  the  prin 
ciple  into  the  vernacular." 

She  breakfasted  upstairs  so  that  she  might  not  have  to  talk, 
but  went  down  immediately  afterward  in  order  to  find  some 
body  to  speak  to,  so  rapid  were  the  alternations  of  her  moods. 
It  was  not  in  Angelica's  nature  to  conceal  anything  she  had 
done  from  her  friends  for  long,  and  before  she  had  been 
twenty-four  hours  at  the  castle  she  had  taken  her  Aunt  Claudia, 
and  the  lady  known  to  them  all  intimately  as  "Ideala,"  into 
her  confidence;  but  neither  of  them  attempted  to  improve  the 
occasion.  They  said  even  less  than  her  uncle  had  done,  and 
this  reticence  perplexed  Angelica.  She  would  have  liked  them 
to  make  much  of  her  wickedness,  to  have  reasoned  with  her, 
lectured  her,  and  incited  her  to  argue.  She  did  not  perceive, 
as  they  did,  that  she  was  one  of  those  who  must  work  out  their 
own  salvation  in  fear  and  trembling,  and  she  was  angry  with 
them  because  they  continued  their  ordinary  avocations  as  if 
nothing  had  happened  when  everything  had  gone  so  wrong 
with  her. 

The  weary  day  dragged  its  slow  length  along.  A  walk 
about  the  grounds,  luncheon,  a  long  drive,  calling  at  Ilver- 
thorpe  on  the  way  back  for  letters ;  afternoon  tea  with  her 
grandfather  in  the  oriel  room,  and  afterward  the  accustomed 
wait  with  bowed  head  for  the  chime,  which  floated  up  at  last 
from  afar,  distinct,  solemn,  slow,  and  weary  like  the  voice  of 
one  who  vainly  repeats  a  blessed  truth  to  ears  that  will  not 
hear: 


I*  I*     ,  I    ~.    I 

I W — ^"  •  » \—^ 0 7T2 


Be,  watch-ing  o-ver       Is  -  fra  «•  el,     dumbers  not,  nor  -alecpa. 

Her  grandfather  raised  his  velvet  cap,  and  held  it  above  his 
bald  head  while  he  repeated  the  words  aloud,  after  which  he 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  535 

muttered  a  prayer  for  the  restoration  of  "Holy  Church,"  then 
rose,  and,  leaning  heavily  on  his  ebony  stick,  walked  from  the 
room  with  the  springless  step  of  age,  accompanied  by  his 
daughter  Claudia  and  his  son,  and  followed  by  two  deer 
hounds,  old  and  faithful  friends  who  seldom  left  him.  When 
the  door  closed  upon  this  little  procession,  Angelica  found 
herself  alone  with  her  aunt  Lady  Fulda,  to  whom  she  had  not 
spoken  since  the  day  before.  They  were  sitting  near  to  each 
other,  Angelica  being  in  the  window,  from  whence  she  had 
looked  down  upon  the  tree-tops  and  the  distant  city  while  they 
waited  for  the  chime,  the  melancholy  cadence  of  which  had 
added  something  to  the  chill  misery  of  her  mood. 

"Do  you  still  believe  it?"  she  asked  ironically,  and  then 
felt  as  if  she  were  always  asking  that  question  in  that  tone. 

Lady  Fulda  had  also  looked  about  as  she  listened,  but  now 
she  left  the  window,  and,  taking  a  seat  opposite  to  Angelica, 
answered  bravely,  her  face  lighting  up  as  she  spoke:  "I  do 
believe  it." 

"Then  why  did  he  let  a  man  like  that  die?"  Angelica 
asked  defiantly.  "Why  did  he  create  such  a  man  at  all 
merely  to  kill  him?  Wouldn't  a  commoner  creature  have 
done  as  well?" 

"We  are  not  told  that  any  creature  is  common  in  his 
sight,"  Lady  Fulda  answered  gently.  "But  suppose  they 
were,  would  a  common  creature  have  produced  the  same 
effect  upon  you?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  he  was  created  to  please 
me " 

"Oh,  no,  not  that,"  Lady  Fulda  hastily  interposed,  and 
Angelica,  perceiving  that  she  had  at  last  found  somebody  who 
would  kindly  improve  the  occasion,  turned  round  ^  from  the 
window,  and  settled  herself  for  a  fray.  "And  I  don't  mean," 
Lady  Fulda  pursued,  "I  dare  not  presume  to  question;  but 
Still— oh,  I  must  say  it!  Your  heart  has  been  very  hard. 
Would  anything  but  death  have  touched  you  so?  Had  not 
every  possible  influence  been  vainly  tried  before  that  to  soften 

^Angelica  smiled  disagreeably.     "You  are  insinuating  that 
he  died  for  me,  to  save  my  soul,"  she  politely  suggested. 

Her  aunt  took  no  notice  of  the  sneer.     "Oh,. not  for  you. 
alone,"  she   answered  earnestly;    "but  for  all  the 
upon  whom  you,  in  your  position,  and  with  your  attractions, 
will  bring  the  new  power  of  your  goodness  to  bear.     Yoi 


536  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

not  think,  with  all  your  scepticism,  that  such  a  man  has  lived 
and  died  for  nothing.  You  must  have  some  knowledge  or  idea 
of  the  consequences  of  such  a  life  in  such  a  world,  of  the  influ 
ence  for  good  of  a  great  talent  employed  as  his  was,  the  one  as 
an  example  and  the  other  as  a  power  to  inspire  and  control." 

Angelica  did  not  attempt  to  answer  this,  and  there  was  a 
pause;  then  she  began  again;  "I  did  grasp  something  of  what 
you  mean,  I  saw  for  a  moment  the  beauty  of  holiness,  and  the 
joy  of  it  continued  with  me  for  a  little.  Then  I  went  to  tell 
Israfil.  I  was  determined  to  be  true,  and  I  should  have  been 
true  had  I  not  lost  him;  but  now  my  heart  is  harder  than  ever, 
and  I  shall  be  worse  than  I  was  before." 

"Oh,  no!"  her  aunt  exclaimed,  "you  are  deceiving  your 
self.  If  you  had  found  him  there  that  day,  your  good  resolu 
tions  would  only  have  lasted  until  you  had  bound  him  to  you 
— enslaved  him ;  and  then,  although  you  would  have  carefully 
avoided  breaking  the  letter  of  the  law,  you  would  have  broken 
the  spirit;  you  would  have  tried  to  fascinate  him,  and  bring 
him  down  to  your  own  level;  you  would  have  made  him  loathe 
himself,  and  then  you  would  have  mocked  him." 

"Like  the  evil-minded  heroine  of  a  railway  novel!"  Angel 
ica  began,  then  added  doggedly:  "You  wrongme,  AuntFulda. 
There  is  no  one  whose  respect  I  valued  more.  There  is  noth 
ing  in  right  or  reason  I  would  not  have  done  to  win  it — that  is 
to  say,  if  there  had  been  anything  I  could  have  done.  But  I 
do  not  think  now  that  there  was."  This  last  depressing 
thought  brought  about  another  of  those  rapid  revulsions  of 
feeling  to  which  she  had  been  subject  during  these  latter  days, 
and  she  broke  off  for  a  moment,  then  burst  out  afresh  to  just 
the  opposite  effect:  "I  do  not  know,  though.  I  am  not  sure 
of  anything.  Probably  you  are  right,  and  I  deceived  myself. 
I  inherit  bad  principles  from  my  ancestors,  and  it  may  be  that 
I  can  no  more  get  rid  of  them  than  I  could  get  rid  of  the  gout 
or  any  other  hereditary  malady,  by  simply  resolving  to  cure 
myself.  It  is  different  with  you.  You  were  born  good.  I 
was  born  bad,  and  delight  in  my  wickedness." 

"Angelica!"  her  aunt  remonstrated,  "do  not  talk  in  that 
reckless  way." 

"Well,  I  exaggerate,"  Angelica  allowed,  veering  again,  as 
the  wind  does  in  squally  weather  before  it  sets  steadily  from  a 
single  quarter.  "But  what  have  I  done  after  all  that  you 
should  take  me  to  task  so  seriously?  Wrong,  certainly;  but 
still  I  have  not  broken  a  single  commandment." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  537 

"'Not  one  of  the  Decalogue,  perhaps;  but  you  have  sinned 
against  the  whole  spirit  of  uprightness.  Has  it  never  occurred 
to  you  that  you  may  keep  the  ten  commandments  strictly,  and 
yet  be  a  most  objectionable  person?  You  might  smoke,  drink, 
listen  at  doors,  repeat  private  conversations,  open  other  peo 
ple's  letters,  pry  amongst  their  papers,  be  vulgar  and  offensive 
in  conversation,  and  indecent  in  dress — altogether  detestable, 
if  your  code  of  morality  were  confined  to  the  ten  command 
ments.  But  why  will  you  talk  like  this,  Angelica?  Why  will 
you  be  so  defiant,  when  your  heart  is  breaking,  as  I  know  it  is?" 

Angelica  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  with  one  dry  sob  that 
made  her  whole  frame  quiver. 

"Oh,  do  not  be  so  hard!"  the  other  woman  implored. 
"Listen  to  your  own  heart,  listen  to  all  that  is  best  in  yourself; 
you  have  good  impulses  enough,  I  know  you  have;  and  you 
have  been  called  to  the  Higher  Life  more  than  once,  but  you 
would  not  hear." 

"Yes" — thoughtfully — "but  it  is  no  use — no  help.  I  never 
profit  by  experiences  because  I  don't  object  to  things  while 
they  are  happening.  It  is  only  afterward,  when  all  the 
excitement  is  over  and  I  have  had  time  to  reflect,  that  I 
become  dissatisfied."  And  she  threw  herself  back  in  her  easy- 
chair,  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other  so  as  to  display  a  fair 
amount  of  slender  foot  and  silk-clocked  stocking,  as  it  is  the 
elegant  fashion  of  the  day  to  do;  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
head,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  ceiling,  being  evidently  deter 
mined  to  let  the  subject  drop. 

Lady  Fulda  compressed  her  lips.  She  was  baffled,  and^she 
was  perplexed.  A  quarter  rang  from  the  city  clocks.  "Do 
you  know,"  she  began  again,  "I  have  a  fancy— many  people 
have — that  a  time  comes  to  us  all — an  hour  when  we  are  called 
upon  to  choose  between  good  and  evil.  It  is  a  quarter  since 
we  heard  the  chime " 

"Only  a  quarter!"  Angelica  ejaculated.  "It  seems  an 
age ! ' * 

"But  suppose  this  is  your  hour,"  Lady  Fulda  patiently  pur 
sued.  "One  precious  quarter  of  it  has  gone  already,  and  still 
you  harden  your  heart.  You  are  asked  to  choose  now,  you 
are  called  to  the  Higher  Life;  you  must  know  that  you  are 
being  called—specially—this  moment.  And  what  if  it  should 
be  for  the  last  time?  What  if,  after  this,  you  are  deprived  of 
the  power  to  choose,  and  forced  by  that  which  is  evil  in  you 
to  wander  away  from  all  that  is  good  and  pure  and  pleasant 


538  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

into  the  turmoil  and  trouble,  the  falseness,  the  illusion,  and 
the  maddening  unrest  of  the  other  life?  You  know  it  all. 
You  can  imagine  what  it  would  be  when  that  last  loophole  of 
escape,  upon  which  we  all  rely — perhaps  unconsciously — 
was  closed,  when  you  knew  you  never  could  return ;  when  you 
came  to  be  shut  out  from  hope,  a  prey  to  remorse,  a  tired 
victim  compelled  to  pursue  excitement,  and  always  to  pursue  it, 
descending  all  the  time,  and  finding  it  escape  you  more  and 
more  till  at  last  even  that  hateful  resource  was  lost  to  you,  and 
you  found  yourself  at  the  end  of  the  road  to  perdition,  a  worn 
out  woman,  face  to  face  with  despair!" 

Angelica  slowly  unclasped  her  hands  from  behind  her  head, 
let  her  chin  sink  on  her  chest,  and  looked  up  from  under  her 
eyebrows  at  her  aunt.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  but  otherwise 
her  face  washes  still  as  a  statue's,  and  what  she  thought  or  felt 
it  was  impossible  to  say.  "It  is  idle  to  talk  of  choice,"  she 
answered  coldly.  " I  had  chosen — honestly.  I  told  you;  you 
see  what  has  come  of  it!" 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Lady  Fulda,  "but  you  had  not  chosen 
honestly.  You  had  not  chosen  the  better  life— to  lead  it  for  its 
own  sake,  but  for  his.  You  wanted  to  bring  yourself  nearer 
to  him,  and  you  would  have  made  goodness  a  means  to  that 
end  if  you  could.  But  you  see  it  was  not  the  right  way,  and 
it  has  not  succeeded." 

Angelica  sat  up,  and  the  dull  look  left  her  face.  She 
seemed  interested.  "You  see  through  all  my  turpitude,"  she 
observed,  affecting  to  smile,  although  in  truth  she  was  more 
moved  than  her  pride  would  allow  her  to  show. 

Her  aunt  sighed,  seeing  no  sign  of  softening.  She  feared  it 
was  labour  lost,  but  still  she  felt  impelled  to  try  once  more 
before  she  renounced  the  effort.  She  was  nervous  about  it, 
however,  being  naturally  diffident,  and  hesitated,  trying  to 
collect  her  thoughts;  and  in  the  interval  the  evening  shadows 
deepened,  the  half  hour  chimed  from  the  city  clocks,  and  then 
she  spoke.  "Just  think,"  she  said  sadly— "Just  think  what  it 
will  be  when  you  have  gone  from  here  this  evening — if  you 
carry  out  your  determination  and  return  after  dinner;  just 
think  what  it  will  be  when  you  find  yourself  alone  again  in 
that  great  house  with  the  night  before  you;  and  your  aching 
heart,  and  your  bitter  thoughts,  and  the  remorse  which  gnaws 
without  ceasing,  for  companions;  and  not  one  night  of  it  only 
but  all  the  years  to  come,  and  every  phase  of  it;  from  the  sharp 
pain  of  this  moment  to  the  dull  discontent  in  which  it  ends 


HEAVENLY 

and  from  which  nothing  on  earth  will  rouse  you;  think  of 
yourself  then  without  comfort  and  without  hope."  Angelica 
changed  her  position  uneasily.  "You  still  hesitate,"  Lady 
Fulda  continued;  "you  are  loath  to  commit  yourself;  you 
would  rather  not  choose;  you  prefer  to  believe  yourself  a 
puppet  at  the  mercy  of  a  capricious  demon  who  moves  you 
this  way  and  that  as  the  idle  fancy  seizes  him.  But  you  are 
no  puppet.  You  have  the  right  of  choice;  you  must  choose; 
and,  having  chosen,  if  you  look  up,  the  Power  Divine  will  be 
extended  to  you  to  support  you,  or — but  either  way  your  choice 
will  at  once  become  a  force  for  good  or  evil." 

She  ended  abruptly,  and  then  there  was  another  long  pause. 

Angelica's  mind  was  alive  to  everything — to  the  rustle  of 
summer  foliage  far  below;  to  the  beauty  of  the  woman  before 
her,  to  the  power  of  her  presence,  to  the  absolute  integrity 
which  was  so  impressive  in  all  she  said,  to  her  high-bred  sim 
plicity,  to  the  grace  of  her  attitude  at  that  moment  as  she  sat 
with  an  elbow  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  covering  her  eyes  with 
one  white  hand;  to  the  tearless  turmoil  in  her  own  breast,  the 
sense  of  suffering  not  to  be  relieved,  the  hopeless  ache.  Was 
there  any  way  of  escape  from  herself?  Her  conscience  whisp 
ered  one.  But  was  there  only  one?  The  struggle  of  the  last 
few  days  had  recommenced;  was  it  to  go  on  like  this  forever 
and  ever,  over  and  over  again?  What  a  prospect!  And,  oh! 
to  be  able  to  end  it !  somehow !  anyhow !  Oh,  for  the  courage 
to  choose!  but  she  must  choose,  she  knew  that;  Aunt  Fulda 
was  right,  her  hour  had  come.  The  momentous  question  had 
been  asked,  and  it  must  be  answered  once  for  all.  If  she 
should  refuse  to  take  the  hand  held  out  to  help  her  now,  where 
would  she  drift  to  eventually?  Should  she  end  by  consorting 
with  people  like — and  she  thought  of  an  odious  woman;  or 
come  to  be  talked  of  at  clubs,  named  lightly  by  low  men— and 
she  thought  of  some  specimens  of  that  class.  But  why  should 
she  arrive  at  any  decision?  Why  should  she  feel  compelled 
to  adopt  a  settled  plan  of  action?  Why  could  she  not  go  on  as 
she  had  done  hitherto?  Was  there  really  no  standing  still? 
Were  people  really  rising  or  sinking  always,  doing  good  or 
evil?  Why,  no,  for  what  harm  had  she  done?  Quick, 
answering  to  the  question  with  a  pang,  the  rush  of  recollection 
caught  her,  and  again  the  vow,  made,  and  forgotten  ^for  the 
moment,  as  soon  as  made,  burned  in  her  heart: 
Israfil!  only  forgive  me,  and  I  will  be  true." 

She  did  not  wait  to  think  again.     The  mere  repetition  was  a 


§46  THE  ttEATRNLY   TWItfS. 

renewal  of  her  vow,    and   in  the  act  she  had  unconsciously 
decided. 

Slipping  from  her  chair  to  the  ground,  she  laid  her  head  on 
Lady  Fulda's  lap. 

"I  wish  I  could  be  sure  of  myself,"  she  said,  sighing  deeply. 
"You  must  help  me,  Aunt  Fulda." 

"Now  the  dear  Lord  help  you,"  was  the  soft  reply. 

And  almost  at  the  same  moment,  the  city  clocks  began  to 
strike,  and  they  both  raised  their  heads  involuntarily,  waiting 
for  the  chime. 

It  rang  at  last  with  a  new  significance  for  Angelica.  The 
hour  was  over  which  had  been  her  hour;  a  chapter  of  her  life 
had  closed  with  it  forever ;  and  when  she  looked  up  then,  she 
found  herself  in  another  world,  wherein  she  would  walk  hence 
forth  with  other  eyes  to  better  purpose. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  NGELICA  drove  back  to  Ilverthorpe  alone  directly  after 
£\  dinner,  and  went  straight  to  bed.  She  slept  from  ten 
o'clock  that  night  till  the  next  morning,  and  awoke  to  the  con 
sciousness  that  the  light  of  day  was  garish,  that  she  herself  was 
an  insignificant  trifle  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  that  every 
thing  was  unsatisfactory. 

"Now,  had  I  been  the  heroine  of  a  story,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  "it  would  have  been  left  to  the  reader's  imagination  to 
suppose  that  I  remained  forever  in  the  state  of  blissful  exalta 
tion  up  to  which  Aunt  Fulda  wound  me  by  her  eloquence  yes 
terday.  Here  I  am  already,  however — with  my  intentions  still 
set  fair,  I  believe — but  in  spirit,  oh,  so  flat!  a  siphon  of  soda- 
water  from  which  the  gas  has  escaped.  Well,  I  suppose  it 
must  be  recharged,  that  is  all.  Oh,  dear!  I  am  so  tired. 
Just  five  minutes  more,  Angelica  dear,  take  five  minutes 
more!"  She  closed  her  eyes.  "I'm  glad  I'm  the  mistress 
and  not  the  maid— am  I  though?  Poor  Elizabeth!  It  spoils 
my  comfort  just  to  think  of  her  always  obliged  to  be  up  and 
dressed — with  a  racking  headache,  perhaps,  hardly  able  to 
rise,  but  forced  to  drag  herself  up  somehow  nevertheless  to 
wait  upon  worthless  selfish  me.  Live  for  others" — Here, 
however,  thought  halted,  grew  confused,  ceased  altogether  for 
an  imperceptible  interval,  and  was  then  succeeded  by  vivid 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  541 

dreams  She  fancied  that  she  had  wavered  in  her  new  resolu 
tions,  and  gone  back  to  her  old  idea.  If  the  conditions  of  life 
were  different,  she  would  be  different,  in  spirit  and  in  truth, 
instead  of  only  in  outward  seeming  as  now  appeared  to  be  the 
case.  She  was  doing  no  good  in  the  world;  her  days  were 
steeped  in  idleness;  her  life  was  being  wasted.  Surely  it 
would  be  a  creditable  thing  for  her  to  take  her  violin,  and 
make  it  what  it  was  intended  to  be,  a  delight  to  thousands. 
Such  genius  as  hers  was  never  meant  for  the  benefit  of  a  little 
circle  only,  but  for  the  world  at  large,  and  all  she  wanted  was 
to  fulfil  the  end  and  object  of  her  being  by  going  to  work. 
She  said  so  to  Mr.  Kilroy,  and  he  made  no  objection,  which 
surprised  her,  for  always  hitherto  he  had  expressed  himself 
strongly  on  the  subject  even  to  the  extent  of  losing  his  temper 
on  one  occasion.  Now,  however,  he  heard  her  in  silence, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  and  when  she  had  said  her  say 
he  uttered  not  a  word,  but  just  rose  from  his  seat  with  a  deep 
sigh — almost  a  groan — and  a  look  of  weariness  and  perplexity 
in  his  eyes  that  smote  her  to  the  heart,  and  slowly  left  the 
room. 

"I  make  his  life  a  burden  to  him,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I 
can  do  nothing  right.  I  wish  I  was  dead.  I  do."  And  then 
she  followed  him  to  the  library. 

He  was  sitting  at  his  writing  table  with  his  arms  folded  upon 
it,  and  his  face  bowed  down  and  hidden  on  them,  and  he  did 
not  move  when  she  entered. 

The  deep  dejection  of  his  attitude  frightened  her.  She  has 
tened  to  him,  knelt  down  beside  him,  and  putting  her  arms 
round  his  neck  drew  him  toward  her;  and  then  he  looked  at 
her,  trying  to  smile,  but  a  more  miserable  face  she  had  never 
beheld. 

"O  Daddy,  Daddy,"  she  cried  remorsefully,  "I  didn  t  mean 
to  vex  you.  I'll  never  play  in  public  as  long  as  I  live— there! 
I  promise  you." 

"I   don't  wish  you  to  make  rash  promises,     he  answer 
hoarsely.     "But  if  you  could  care  for  me  a  little— 

"Daddy— dear—  I   do  care  for  you.     I   do,    indeed, 
protested       "I  like  to  know  you  are  here.     I  like  to  be  able 
to  come  to  you  when— whenever  I  like.^  I  cannot  do  wit] 
you.     If  anything  happened  to  you— 

The  shock  of  such  a  dreadful  possibility  awoke  her. 
was  less  refreshed  than  she  had  been  when  she  first  opened  her 
eyes  that  morning,  but  she  sprang  out  of  bed  m  an  msts 


542  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

The  blinds  were  up  and  the  windows  open  as  usual;  the  sun 
had  spun  round  to  the  south,  and  now  streamed  hotly  in, 
making  her  feel  belated. 

"Elizabeth!"  she  called,  then  went  to  the  bell  and  rang  it, 
standing  a  moment  when  she  had  done  so,  and  looking  down 
as  if  to  consider  the  blurred  reflection  of  her  bare  white  feet  on 
the  polished  floor;  but  only  for  an  instant,  for  the  paramount 
feeling  that  possessed  her  was  one  of  extreme  haste.  The 
painful  impression  of  that  dream  was  still  vividly  present  with 
her,  and  she  wanted  to  do  something •,  but  what  precisely  she 
did  not  wait  to  ask  herself.  As  soon  as  she  was  dressed,  one 
duty  after  another  presented  itself  as  usual,  and,  equally  as 
usual  with  her  in  her  own  house,  was  carefully  performed,  so 
that  she  was  fully  occupied  until  lunch  time,  but  after  lunch 
she  ordered  the  carriage,  and  drove  into  Morningquest  to  do 
some  shopping  for  the  household.  This  task  accomplished, 
she  intended  to  return,  but  as  she  passed  the  station  the  recol 
lection  of  the  dream,  of  her  husband's  bowed  head,  of  the 
utter  misery  in  his  face  when  he  looked  up  at  her,  of  the  pain 
in  his  voice  when  he  spoke,  and  the  effort  he  made  in  his  kindly 
way  to  control  it,  so  that  he  might  not  hurt  her  with  an  implied 

reproach  when  he  said,  "If  you  could  care  for  me  a  little " 

Dear  Daddy!  always  so  tender  for  her!  always  so  kindly  for 
bearing!  What  o'clock  was  it?  The  London  express  would 
go  out  in  five  minutes.  It  was  the  train  he  had  gone  by  him 
self  last  time.  How  could  she  let  him  go  alone?  Stop  at  the 
station,  write  a  line  to  Elizabeth — "Please  pack  up  my  things, 
and  follow  me  to  town  immediately."  Get  me  a  ticket,  quick! 
Here  is  the  train.  In.  Off.  Thank  Heaven ! 

Angelica  threw  herself  back  in  the  centre  seat  of  the  com 
partment,  and  closed  her  eyes.  The  hurry  and  excitement  of 
action  suited  her;  her  lips  were  smiling,  and  her  cheeks  were 
flushed.  There  was  a  young  man  seated  opposite  to  her  who 
stared  so  persistently  that  at  last  she  became  aware  of  his 
admiring  gaze  and  immediately  despised  him,  although  why 
she  should  despise  him  for  admiring  her  she  could  not  have 
told.  When  he  had  left  the  carriage,  a  charming-looking- old 
Quaker  lady,  who  was  then  the  only  other  passenger,  addressed 
Angelica  in  the  quaint  grammar  of  her  sect.  "Art  thee  trav 
elling  alone,  dear  child?" 

"Yes,"  Angelica  answered,  with  the  affable  smile  and 
intonation  for  which  the  Heavenly  Twins  were  noted. 

"Doubtless  there  are  plenty  of  friends  to  meet  thee  at  thy 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  543 

journey's  end,'    the  lady  suggested,  responding  sympatheti 
cally  to  Angelica's  pleasantness. 

"Plenty,"  said  Angelica — "not  to  mention  my  husband." 
When  she  had  said  it  she  felt  proud  for  the  first  time  since  her 
marriage  because  she  had  a  husband. 

"Ah!"  the  lady  ejaculated,  somewhat  sadly.  "Well," 
she  added,  betraying  her  thought,  "in  these  sad  days  the 
sooner  a  young  girl  has  the  strong  arm  of  a  good  man  to  pro 
tect  her  the  better."  Then  she  folded  her  hands  and  turned 
her  placid  face  to  the  window. 

^  Angelica  looked  at  her  for  a  little,  wondering  at  the  delicate 
pink  and  white  of  her  withered  cheek,  and  becoming  aware  of  a 
tune  at  the  same  time  set  to  the  words  A  good  man  !  A  good 
man  !  by  the  thundering  throbbing  crank  as  they  sped  along. 
Daddy  was  a  good  man — suppose  she  lost  him  ?  Nobody  belonged 
to  her  as  he  did — suppose  she  lost  him  ?  There  was  nobody  else 
in  the  world  to  whom  she  could  go  by  right  as  she  was  going 
to  him,  nobody  else  in  whom  she  had  such  perfect  confidence, 
nobody  on  whose  devotion  to  herself  she  could  rely  as  she  did 
on  his;  she  was  all  the  world  to  him.  A  good  man!  A  good 
man  !  Suppose — suppose  she  lost  him  ? 

The  sudden  dread  gripped  her  heart  painfully.  It  was  not 
death  she  feared,  but  that  worse  loss,  a  change  in  his  affection. 
He  was  a  simple,  upright,  honourable  man — what  would  he  say 
if  he  knew?  But  need  he  ever  know?  The  question  was 
answered  as  soon  as  asked,  for  Angelica  felt  in  her  heart  that 
she  could  bear  to  lose  him  and  live  alone  better  than  be  beside 
him  with  that  invisible  barrier  of  a  deception  always  between 
them  to  keep  them  apart.  It  was  a  need  of  her  nature  to  be 
known  for  what  she  was  exactly  to  those  with  whom  she  lived. 

The  train   drew  up   at   the  terminus,  and  the  moment  she 
moved  she  was  again  conscious  of  that  terrible  feeling  of  haste 
which  had  beset  her  more  or  less  the  whole  day  long. 
v"No  one  to  meet  thee?"  the  Quaker  lady  said. 

"No,  I  am  not  expected,"  Angelica  answered,  with  her 
hand  on  the  handle  of  the  door.  "I  am  a  bad  wife  in  a  state 
of  repentance,  going  to  give  a  good  husband  an  unpleasant 
surprise."  She  sprang  from  the  carriage,  hastened  across  the 
platform,  and  got  into  a  hansom,  telling  the  man  to  drive 
"quick!  quick!" 

On  arriving  at  the  house  she  entered  unannounced,  after 
some  little  opposition  from  a  new  manservant  who  did  not 
know  her  by  sight,  and  was  evidently  inclined  to  believe  her  to  b* 


544  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

an  impostor  bent  on  pillage.     This  check  on  the  threshold 
caused  her  to  feel  deeply  humiliated. 

Her  husband  happened  to  be  crossing  the  hall  at  the  time, 
but  he  went  on  without  noticing  the  arrival  at  the  door,  and  she 
followed  him  to  his  study.  Unconscious  of  her  presence,  he 
passed  into  the  room  before  her  with  a  heavy  step,  and  as  she 
noted  this  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  saw  him  now  for  the  first 
time  as  he  really  was — of  good  figure  and  quiet  undemonstra 
tive  manners;  faultlessly  dressed;  distinguished  in  appearance, 
upon  the  whole,  if  not  actually  handsome;  a  man  of  position 
and  means,  accustomed  to  social  consideration  as  was  evident 
by  his  bearing;  and  not  old  as  she  was  wont  to  think  him — 
what  difference  did  twenty  years  make  at  their  respective  ages? 
No,  not  old,  but — unhappy,  and  lonely,  for  if  she  did  not  care 
to  be  with  him  who  would?  Her  heart  smote  her,  and  she 
stepped  forward  impetuously,  anxious  above  everything  to 
make  amends. 

"Daddy!"  she  gasped,  grasping  his  arm. 

Startled,  Mr.  Kilroy  turned  round,  and  looked  down  into 
her  face  incredulously. 

"Is  it  you — Angelica?"  he  faltered.  "Is  anything  the  mat 
ter,  dear?"  Then  suddenly  his  whole  being  changed.  A 
glad  light  came  into  his  eyes,  making  him  look  years  younger, 
and  he  was  about  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  coldly 
repulsed  him,  acting  on  one  of  two  impulses,  the  other  being 
to  respond,  to  cling  close  to  him,  to  say  something  loving. 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter,"  she  began.  "I  thought  I 
should  like  to  come  back  to  you — at  least" — recollecting  her 
self — "that  isn't  true.  But  I  do  wish  I  had  never  separated 
myself  from  you  in  any  way.  I  do  wish  I  had  been  different." 
And  she  threw  herself  into  a  low,  easy,  leather-lined  arm 
chair,  and  leant  back,  looking  up  to  him  with  appealing  eyes. 

Mr.  Kilroy's  pride  and  affection  made  him  nicely  observant 
of  any  change  in  Angelica,  but  still  he  was  at  a  loss  to  under 
stand  this  new  freak,  and  her  manner  alarmed  him. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well,"  he  said  anxiously. 

She  sat  up  restlessly,  then  threw  herself  back  in  the  chair 
once  more,  and  lay  there  with  her  chin  on  her  chest,  in  an 
utterly  dejected  attitude,  not  looking  up  even  when  she  spoke. 
"Oh,  I  am  well,  thank  you,"  she  said,  "quite  well." 

Then  something  has  annoyed  you,"  he  went  on  kindly. 
"Tell  me  what  it  is,  dear  child.  I  am  the  proper  person  to 
come  to  when  things  go  wrong,  you  know.  So  tell  me  all 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWttfS.  545 

about  it.     I— I "  he  hesitated.     She  so  often  snubbed  any 

demonstration  of  atfection  that  he  shrank  from  expressing 
what  he  felt,  but  another  look  at  her  convinced  him  that  there 
was  little  chance  of  a  rebuff  to-day.  He  remained  at  a  safe 
distance,  however,  taking  a  chair  that  stood  beside  an  oval 
table  near  to  which  he  happened  to  be  standing. 

Newspapers  and  magazines  were  piled  up  on  the  table,  and 
these  he  pushed  aside,  making  room  for  his  right  forearm  to 
rest  on  the  cool  mahogany,  on  the  polished  surface  of  which 
he  kept  up  a  continual  nervous  telick-telick  with  the  ends  of 
his  finger  nails  as  he  spoke.  "If  you  do  not  come  to  me  for 
everything  you  want,  to  whom  will  you  go?"  he  inquired, 
lamely  if  pleasantly,  being  perturbed  by  the  effort  he  was 
making  to  conceal  his  uneasiness  and  assume  a  cheerful 
demeanour  both  at  once.  "And  there  is  nothing  I  would  not 
do  for  you,  as  you  know,  I  am  sure."  He  tapped  a  few 
times  on  the  table.  "In  fact,  I  should  be  only  too  glad  if  you 
would  give  me  the  opportunity" — tap,  tap,  tap — "a  little 
oftener,  you  know" — tap,  tap,  tap.  "What  I  want  to  say  is,  I 
should  like  you  to  consult  me  and,  eh,  to  ask  me,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  if  you  want  anything" — advice  he  had  been 
going  to  add,  but  modestly  changed  the  word — "money,  for 
instance."  And  now  his  countenance  cleared.  He  thought 
he  had  accidentally  discovered  the  difficulty.  "I  expect  you 
have  been  running  into  debt,  eh'"  He  spoke  quite  playfully, 
so  greatly  was  he  relieved  to  think  it  was  only  that;  "and  you 
have  been  thinking  of  me  as  a  sort  of  stern  parent,  eh?  who 
would  storm  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But,  my  dear  child, 
you  mustn't  do  that.  You  should  never  forget  'with  all  my 
worldly  goods  I  thee  endow.'  I  assure  you,  ever  since  I 
uttered  those  words,  I  have  felt  that  I  held  the  property  in 

trust  for  you  and "  he  had  been  going  to  add  our  children, 

but  sighed  instead.  "I  have,  I  know,  remonstrated  with  you 
when  I  thought  you  unduly  extravagant.  I  could  not  consci 
entiously  countenance  undue  extravagance  in  so  young  a  wife; 
but  still  I  hope  you  have  never  had  to  complain  of  any  want 
of  liberality  on  my  part  in— in  anything.  In  fact,  what  is  the 
good  of  money  to  me  if  you  do  not  care  to  spend  it?  Come, 
now,  how  much  is  it  this  time?  Just  tell  me  and  have  done 
with  it,  and  then  we  will  go  somewhere,  or  make  plans,  and 
'have  a  good  time,'  as  the  Americans  call  it.  I  have  a  better 
box  than  usual  for  you  at  the  opera  this  year— I  think  I  told 
you.  And  I  never  lend  it  to  anybody.  I  like  to  keep  it 


546  TfflS  tfEAVKNLY  TWMS. 

empty  for  you  in  case  you  care  to  go  at  any  time.  And  I  have 
season  tickets,  see" — he  got  up  and  rummaged  in  a  drawer 
until  he  found  them — "for  everything,  I  almost  think.  I  go 
sometimes  myself  just  to  see  what  is  going  on,  you  know,  and 
if  it  is  the  sort  of  thing  you  would  like,  so  as  to  know  what  to 
take  you  to  when  you  come.  And  I  accept  all  the  nice  invita 
tions  for  you,  conditionally,  of  course.  I  say  if  you  are  in 
town  at  the  time,  and  I  hope  you  may  be  (which  is  true  enough 
always),  you  will  be  happy  to  go,  or  words  to  that  effect.  So 
you  see  there  is  plenty  for  you  to  do  at  any  time  in  the  way  of 
amusement.  I  am  always  making  arrangements,  it  is  like  get 
ting  ready  to  welcome  you.  When  I  am  answering  invitations 
or  doing  the  theatres  I  feel  quite  as  if  I  expected  you.  It  is 
childish,  perhaps,  but  it  makes  something  to  look  forward  to, 
and  when  I  am  busy  preparing  for  you,  somehow  the  days  do 
not  seem  so  blank." 

Angelica  felt  something  rise  in  her  throat,  but  she  neither 
spoke  nor  moved. 

"Or  we  might  go  to  Paris,"  he  proceeded  tentatively. 
"Shall  we?  I  could  pair  with  someone  till  the  end  of  the 
session.  We  might  go  anywhere,  in  fact,  and  I  should  enjoy 
a  holiday  if — if  you  would  accompany  me."  He  looked  at 
her  with  a  smile,  but  the  intermittent  telick,  telick,  telick  of  his 
nervous  drumming  on  the  table  told  that  he  was  far  from  feeling 
all  the  confidence  he  assumed.  For  in  truth  Angelica's  atti 
tude  alarmed  him  more  and  more.  On  other  occasions,  when 
he  had  tried  to  be  more  than  usually  kind  and  indulgent,  she 
had  always  called  him  a  nice  old  thing  or  made  some  such 
affable  if  somewhat  patronizing  acknowledgment,  even  when 
she  was  out  of  temper;  but  now,  finding  that  he  was  waiting 
for  an  answer,  she  just  looked  up  at  him  once,  then  fixed  her 
eyes  on  the  ground  again,  and  spoke  at  last  in  a  voice  so 
hopeless  and  toneless  that  he  would  not  have  recognized 
it. 

"I  think  I  have  only  just  this  moment  learnt  to  appreciate 
you,"  she  said.  "I  used  to  accept  all  your  kind  attentions  as 
merely  my  due,  but  I  know  now  how  little  I  deserve  them, 
and  I  wish  I  could  be  different.  I  wish  I  could  repay  you.  I 
wish  I  could  undo  the  past  and  begin  all  over  again — begin  by 
loving  you  as  a  wife  should.  You  are  ten  thousand  times  too 
good  for  me.  Yet  I  have  cared  for  you  in  a  way,"  she  pro 
tested;  "not  a  kind  way,  perhaps,  but  still  I  have  relied  upon 
you—upon  your  friendship.  I  have  felt  a  sense  of  security  in 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  547 

the  certainty  of  your  affection  for  me — and  presumed  upon  it. 
O  Daddy!   why  have  you  let  me  do  as  I  like?" 

Mr.  Kilroy's  face  became  rigid,  and  the  fingers  with  which 
he  had  kept  up  that  intermittent  tapping  on  the  table  turned 
cold. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Angelica?"  he  asked  hoarsely.  "Are 
you  in  earnest?  Have  you  done — anything — or  are  you  only 
tormenting  me?  If  you  are— it  is  hard,  you  know.  I  do  care 
for  you;  I  always  have  done;  and  I  have  never  ceased  to  look 
forward  to  a  time  when  you  would  love  me  too.  God  help  me 
if  you  have  come  to  tell  me  that  that  time  will  never  come." 

Again  that  lump  rose  in  Angelica's  throat.  A  horrible  form 
of  emotion  had  seized  upon  her:  "I  had  better  tell  you  and 
get  it  over,"  she  said,  speaking  in  hurried  gasps,  and  sitting 
up,  but  not  looking  at  him.  "You  will  care  less  when  you 
know  exactly.  You  will  see  then  that  I  am  not  worth  a 
thought.  I  am  suffering  horribly.  I  want  to  shriek"  She 
tore  her  jacket  open,  and  threw  her  hat  on  the  floor.  "What 
a  relief.  I  was  suffocating.  I  don't  know  where  to  begin." 
She  looked  up  at  him,  then  stopped  short,  frightened  by  the 
drawn  and  haggard  look  in  his  face,  and  tranquillised  too, 
forgetting  herself  in  the  effort  to  think  of  something  to  say  to 
relieve  him.  "But  you  do  know  all  about  it,"  she  added, 
speaking  more  naturally  than  she  had  done  yet.  "I  told 
you " 

" Told  me  what?" 

"About — about — you  thought  I  was  inventing  it — that  story 
— about  the  Tenor  and  the  Boy." 

Mr.  Kilroy  curved  his  fingers  together  and  held  them  up 
over  the  table  for  a  moment  as  if  he  were  about  to  tap  upon  it 
again,  and  it  was  as  if  he  had  asked  a  question. 

"It  was  all  true,"  Angelica  proceeded,  "all  that  I  told  you. 
But  there  was  more." 

Mr.  Kilroy  uttered  a  low  exclamation,  and  hung  his  head  as 
if  in  shame.  The  colour  had  fled  from  his  face,  leaving  it 
ghastly  gray  for  a  moment  like  that  of  a  dead  man.  Angelica 
half  rose  to  go  to  him,  fearing  he  would  faint,  but  he  had 
recovered  before  she  could  carry  out  her  intention.  She 
looked  at  him  compassionately.  She  would  have  given  her 
life  to  be  able  to  spare  him  now,  but  it  was  too  late,  and  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  on  and  get  it  over. 

"You  remember  the  picture  I  had  painted— 'Music  ?  ^Mr. 
Kilroy  made  a  gesture  of  assent.  "That  was  his  portrait. 


548  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"I  always  understood  it  was  an  ideal  singer." 

"An  idealized  singer  was  what  I  said;  but  it  was  not  even 
that,  as  you  would  have  seen  for  yourself  if  you  had  ever  gone 
to  the  cathedral.  It  is  a  good  likeness,  nothing  more." 

"And  you  had  yourself  put  into  a  picture  with  a  common 
tenoi,  and  exhibited  to  all  the  world!" 

"Yes,  and  all  the  world  thought  it  a  great  condescension. 
But  he  did  not  consent  to  it,  or  sit  for  it.  He  objected  to  the 
picture  as  strongly  as  you  do.  He  was  not  a  common  tenor  at 
all.  He  was  an  old  and  intimate  friend  of  Uncle  Dawne's  and 
Dr.  Galbraith's.  They  all — all  our  people — knew  him.  He 
was  often  at  Morne  before  you  came  to  Ilverthorpe ;  but  I  did 
not  know  it  myself  until  afterward." 

"Afterward?"  he  questioned. 

"I  had  better  go  on  from  where  I  left  off,"  she  replied,  her 
confidence  returning.  "I  told  you  about  the  accident  on  the 
river,  and  his  finding  out  who  I  was,  and  his  contempt  for  me; 
and  I  told  you  I  desired  most  sincerely  to  win  his  respect,  and 
you  advised  me  to  go  to  him  and  endeavour  to  do  so.  Well, 
I  went."  She  paused,  and  Mr.  Kilroy  looked  hard  at  her; 
his  face  was  flushed  now.  "And  he  was  dead,"  she  gasped. 

Mr.  Kilroy  seemed  bewildered.  "I  don't — understand," 
he  exclaimed. 

"I  told  you  there  was  more,  and  that  was  it — that  was  all. 
He  was  dead,"  she  repeated. 

Mr.  Kilroy  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  leant  back  in  his  chair. 
"I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  feel  relieved,"  he  began,  as  if  speak 
ing  to  himself;  "yet  I  scarcely  know  what  I  expected."  He 
looked  down  thoughtfully  at  his  own  hand  as  it  lay  upon  the 
table.  He  wanted  to  say  something  more,  but  his  mind  moved 
slowly,  and  no  words  came  at  first.  He  was  obliged  to  make 
a  great  effort  to  collect  himself,  and  in  the  interval  he  resumed 
that  irregular  tapping  upon  the  table.  It  maddened  Angelica, 
who  found  herself  forced  to  watch  and  wait  for  the  recurrence 
of  the  sound. 

"Let  me  tell  you,  though — let  me  finish  the  story,"  she 
exclaimed,  at  last  unable  to  bear  it  any  longer;  and  then  she 
gave  him  every  detail  of  her  doings  since  last  they  parted. 

Mr.  Kilroy  let  his  hand  drop  on  the  table,  and  listened 
without  looking  at  her.  "And  that  is  all?"  he  said,  when  she 
had  finished.  ' ' I  mean — have  you  really  told  me  all,  Angelica?' ' 

She  met  his  eyes  fearlessly,  and  there  was  something  in  her 
face,  something  innocent,  an  unsuspicious  look  of  inquiry  such 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  549 

as  a  child  assumes  when  it  waits  to  be  questioned  which  would 
have  made  him  ashamed  of  a  degrading  doubt  had  he  enter 
tained  one. 

"You  were  not — you  did  not  care  for  him?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  exclaimed  with  most  perfect  and  reassuring 
candour,  "I  cared  for  him.  Of  course  I  cared  for  him. 
Haven't  I  told  you?  No  one  could  know  such  a  man  and  not 
care  for  him." 

"Thank  God!"  he  said  softly,  with  tremulous  lips.  "It 
would  have  broken  my  heart  if  he  had  not  been  such  a  man." 

The  words  brought  down  upon  him  one  of  Angelica's  tor 
nado-tempests  of  unreasonable  wrath.  "Are  you  insinuating 
that  my  good  conduct  depended  upon  his  good  character?" 
she  demanded.  "Are  you  no  better  than  those  hateful 
French  people  who  have  no  conception  of  anything  unusual  in 
a  woman  that  does  not  end  in  gross  impropriety  of  conduct; 
and  fill  their  books  with  nothing  else?" 

Mr.  Kilroy's  face  flushed.  "Such  an  unworthy  suspicion 
would  never  have  occurred  to  me  in  connection  with  your 
self,"  he  said.  "At  the  risk  of  appearing  ungenerous,  I  must 
call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  is  you  yourself  who  have 
been  the  first  to  allude  to  the  bare  possibility  of  such  a  thing. 
For  my  own  part,  if  you  chose  to  travel  round  the  world  alone 
with  a  man,  at  night  or  at  any  other  time  that  suited  your 
convenience,  I  should  be  content  to  know  that  you  were  doing 
so,  especially  if  it  amused  you,  such  is  my  perfect  confidence 
in  your  integrity,  and  in  the  discretion  with  which  you  choose 
your  friends." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  forgive  me!"  Angelica  humbly  ejacu 
lated.  '  'You  shame  me  by  a  delicacy  which  I  can  only  respect 
and  admire  in  you.  I  cannot  imitate  it;  it  is  beyond  me." 

"I  owe  you  an  apology,"  he  answered.  "I  should  have 
spoken  plainly.  It  was  your  feelings— your  heart,  not  your 
conduct,  that  I  suspected.  You  have  never  pretended  to  love 
me—to  be  in  love  with  me,  and  your  Tenor  was  a  younger 
man,  and  more  attractive." 

"Not  to  me,"  Angelica  hastily  and  sincerely  asseverated. 

She  did  not  look  up  to  see  the  effect  of  her  words  upon 
Mr.  Kilroy.  Her  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  his  feet  as  she  spoke, 
and  now  it  struck  her  that  they  were  exceedingly  well-shaped 
feet,  and  well-booted  in  the  quiet  way  characteristic  of  the 
man.  Everything  about  him  was  unobtrusive  as  his  own 
manner,  but  good  as  his  own  heart. 


550  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

Angelica  leant  back  in  her  chair,  and  a  long  silence  ensued, 
during  which  she  lapsed  into  her  old  attitude,  lying  back  in 
her  chair,  her  hands  on  the  arms,  her  chin  on  her  chest,  her 
wandering  glance  upon  the  ground,  so  that  she  did  not  see  that 
her  husband  was  watching  her  with  eyes  that  filled  as  he  looked. 
What  was  to  be  the  end  of  this?  Should  she  lose  his  affection? 
Would  she  be  turned  out  of  the  kind  heart  that  had  loved  her 
with  all  her  faults,  and  cherished  her  with  a  patient,  enduring, 
self-denying  fondness  that  was  worth  more,  and  had  been  a 
greater  comfort  to  her,  as  she  knew  now,  than  all  the  things 
together,  youth,  beauty,  rank,  wealth,  and  talents,  for  which 
she  was  envied.  If  he  said  to  her  in  his  gentle  way:  "You 
had  better  return  to  Ilverthorpe,  and  live  there,"  which  would 
mean  that  he  cared  for  her  no  longer,  should  she  go?  Yes, 
she  would  go  without  a  word.  She  would  go  and  drown 
herself. 

But  Mr.  Kilroy  was  far  from  thinking  harsh  thoughts  of  her. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  blaming  himself,  little  as  he  deserved 
it,  for  the  circumstances  which  had  brought  Angelica  to  this 
bitter  moment  of  self-abasement.  He  was  not  eloquent  either 
in  thought  or  speech,  and  with  regard  to  his  wife  he  had 
always  felt  more  than  he  could  express  even  to  himself,  though 
what  he  felt  did  find  a  certain  form  of  expression,  intelligible 
enough  to  a  loving  soul,  in  his  constant  care  for  her,  and  in 
the  uncomplaining  devotion  which  led  him  to  sacrifice  his  own 
wishes  to  her  whims,  to  absent  himself  when  he  perceived  that 
she  did  not  want  him,  and  to  suffer  her  neglect  without  bitter 
ness,  though  certainly  not  without  pain.  And  now  he  never 
thought  of  blaming  her.  What  occurred  to  him  was  that  this 
young  half-educated  girl  had  been  committed  to  his  care,  and 
left  by  him  pretty  much  to  her  own  devices.  He  had  not  done 
his  duty  by  her;  he  had  not  influenced  her  in  any  way;  he  had 
expected  too  much  from  her.  It  was  the  old  story.  Had  he 
not  himself  seen  fifty  households  wrecked  because  the  hus 
band,  when  he  took  a  girl,  little  more  than  a  child  in  years,  and 
quite  a  child  in  mind  and  experience,  from  her  own  family,  and 
the  wholesome  influences  and  companionship  of  father,  mother, 
brothers,  sisters,  probably  left  her  to  go  unguided,  to  form  her 
character  as  best  she  could,  putting  that  grave  responsibility  in 
her  own  weak  hands  as  if  the  mere  making  a  wife  of  her  must 
make  her  a  mature  and  sensible  woman  also?  This  was  what 
he  had  done  himself,  and  if  Angelica  had  got  into  bad  hands, 
and  come  to  grief  irreparable,  there  would  have  been  nobody 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  551 

to  blame  but  himself  for  it,  especially  as  he  knew  she  was 
headstrong,  excitable,  wild,  original,  fearless,  and  with  an 
intellect  large  out  of  all  proportion  for  the  requirements  of  the 
life  to  which  society  condemned  her;  a  force  which  was  liable, 
if  otherwise  unemployed,  to  expend  itself  in  outbursts  of  mis 
chievous  energy,  although  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  vice  in  her 
—no,  not  a  scrap,  he  loyally  insisted.  For  just  look  how  she 
had  come  to  him  and  told  him !  Would  a  girl  who  was  not 
honest  at  heart  have  done  that  when  she  might  so  easily  have 
deceived  him?  It  was  this  confidence  which  touched  him 
more  than  anything.  She  had  come  to  him,  as  she  should 
have  done,  the  first  thing,  'and  she  had  come  full  of  remorse 
and  willing  to  atone.  All  this  trouble  was  tending  to  unite 
them;  it  had  brought  her  home;  it  would  prove  what  is  called 
a  blessing  in  disguise  after  all,  he  hoped.  His  great  love 
inspired  him  with  insight  and  taught  him  tact  in  all  his  deal 
ings  with  Angelica;  and  now  it  prompted  him  to  do  the  one 
wise  simple  thing  that  would  avail  under  the  circumstances. 
He  went  to  her,  and  bending  over  her,  always  delicately  con 
siderate  of  her  inclinations  even  in  the  matter  of  the  least 
caress,  laid  a  kind  hand  on  her  shoulder,  uttering  at  the  same 
time  brokenly  the  very  words  of  her  dream  that  morning:  "If 
you  could  care  for  me  a  little,  Angelica." 

She  looked  up,  amazed  at  first,  then,  understanding,  she 
rose.  The  distressing  tension  relaxed  in  that  moment,  her 
heart  expanded,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  overflowed;  she 
could  not  command  her  voice  to  speak,  but  she  threw  herself 
impetuously  into  her  husband's  arms,  and  kissed  him  passion 
ately,  and  clung  to  him,  until  she  was  able  to  sob  out — "Don't 
let  me  go  again,  Daddy,  keep  me  close.  I  am — I  am  grateful 
for  the  blessing  of  a  good  man's  love." 


END   OF   BOOK   V, 


BOOK  VI. 
THE   IMPRESSIONS   OF   DR.    GALBRAITH, 


Nothing  extenuate,  nor  set  down  aught  in  malice. 

—Othello,  Act  V.  Sc.  II. 


NOTE. — The  fact  that  Dr.  Galbraith  had  not  the  advantage  of  knowing 
Evadne's  early  history  when  they  first  became  acquainted  adds  a  certain 
piquancy  to  the  flavour  of  his  impressions,  and  the  reader,  better  informed 
than  himself  with  regard  to  the  antecedents  of  his  "  subject,"  will  find  it 
interesting  to  note  both  the  accuracy  of  his  insight  and  the  curious  mistakes 
which  it  is  possible  even  for  a  trained  observer  like  himself  to  make  by  the 
half  light  of  such  imperfect  knowledge  as  he  was  able  to  collect  under  the 
circumstances.  His  record,  which  is  minute  in  all  important  particulars,  is 
specially  valuable  for  the  way  in  which  it  makes  apparent  the  changes  of  habit 
and  opinion  and  the  modifications  of  character  that  had  been  brought  about 
in  a  very  short  time  by  the  restriction  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  imposed  upon 
her.  In  some  respects  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  she  is  the  same  person. 
But  more  interesting  still,  perhaps,  are  the  glimpses  we  get  of  Dr.  Galbraith 
himself  in  the  narrative,  throughout  which  it  is  easy  to  decipher  the  simple 
earnestness  of  the  man,  the  cautious  professionalism  and  integrity,  the 
touches  of  tender  sentiment  held  in  check,  the  dash  of  egotism,  the 
healthy-minded  human  nature,  the  capacity  for  enjoyment  and  sorrow,  the 
love  of  life,  and,  above  all,  the  perfect  unconsciousness  with  which  he  shows 
himself  to  have  been  a  man  of  fastidious  refinement  and  exemplary  moral 
strength  and  delicacy  ;  of  the  highest  possible  character  ;  and  most  lovable 
in  spite  of  a  somewhat  irascible  temper  and  manner  which  were  apt  to  be 
abrupt  at  times. 


CHAPTER  I. 

1HVADNE  puzzled  me.  As  a  rule,  men  of  my  profession, 
£j  and  more  particularly  specialists  like  myself,  can  class  a 
woman's  character  and  gauge  her  propensities  for  good  or  evil 
while  he  is  diagnosing  her  disease  if  she  consult  him,  or  more 
easily  still  during  half  an  hour's  ordinary  conversation  if  he 
happens  to  be  alone  with  her.  But  even  after  I  had  seen 
Evadne  many  times,  and  felt  broadly  that  I  knew  her  salient 
points  as  well  as  such  tricks  of  manner  or  habitual  turns  of 
expression  as  distinguished  her  from  other  ladies,  I  was  puzzled. 
We  are  not  sufficiently  interested  in  all  the  people  we  meet 
to  care  to  understand  their  characters  exactly,  but  a  medical 
man  who  has  not  insight  enough  to  do  so  at  will  has  small 
chance  of  success  in  his  profession,  and  when  I  found  myself 
puzzled  about  Evadne  it  became  a  point  of  importance  with 
me  to  understand  her.  She  was  certainly  an  interesting  study, 
and  all  the  more  so  because  of  that  initial  difficulty— a  diffi 
culty,  by  the  way,  which  I  found  from  the  gossip  of  the  place 
that  everybody  else  was  experiencing  more  or  less.  For  it 
was  evident  from  the  first  that  whatever  her  real  character 
might  be,  she  was  anything  but  a  nonentity.  Before  she  had 
been  in  the  neighbourhood  a  fortnight  she  had  made  a  distinct 
impression  and  was  freely  discussed,  a  fact  which  speaks  for 
itself  in  two  ways :  first,  her  individuality  was  strongly  marked 
enough  to  attract  immediate  attention,  and  secondly,  there  \yas 
that  about  her  which  provoked  criticism.  Not  that  the  criti 
cism  of  a  community  like  ours  is  worth  much,  consisting  as  it 
does  of  carping  mainly,  and  the  kind  of  carping  which  reflects 
much  more  upon  the  low  level  of  intelligence  that  obtains  in 
such  neighbourhoods  than  upon  the  character  of  the  person 
criticised,  for  what  the  vulgar  do  not  understand  they  are  apt 
to  condemn.  Somebody  has  said  that  to  praise  moderately  is 
a  sign  of  mediocrity;  and  somebody  might  have  added  that  to 
denounce  decidedly  shows  deficiency  in  a  multitude  of  esti 
mable  qualities,  among  which  discernment  must  be  specially 
mentioned— not,  however,  that  there  was  any  question  ot 
denouncing  here,  for  Evadne  was  always  more  discussed  for 

5VS 


556  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

what  she  was  not  than  for  what  she  was.  One  lady  of  my 
acquaintance  put  part  of  my  own  feeling  into  words  when  she 
declared  that  Evadne  could  be  nicer  if  she  would,  that  part  of 
it  which  first  made  me  suspect  that  there  was  something  arti 
ficial  in  her  attitude  towards  the  world  at  large,  and  more 
especially  towards  the  world  of  thought  and  opinion,  and  that, 
had  she  been  natural,  she  would  have  differed  from  herself  as 
we  knew  her  in  many  material  respects.  Naturalness,  how 
ever,  is  a  quality  upon  which  too  much  stress  is  generally  laid. 
If  you  are  naturally  nice  it  is  all  very  well,  but  suppose  you 
are  naturally  nasty?  We  should  be  very  thankful  indeed  to 
think  that  some  of  our  friends  are  not  natural. 

In  looking  back  now,  I  am  inclined  to  ask  why  we,  Evadne's 
intimate  friends,  should  always  have  expected  more  of  her 
than  we  did  of  other  people.  That  certainly  was  the  case,  and 
she  disappointed  us.  We  felt  that  she  should  have  been  a 
representative  woman  such  as  the  world  wants  at  this  period  of 
its  progress,  making  a  name  for  herself  and  an  impression  on 
the  age;  and  it  was  probably  her  objection,  expressed  with 
quite  passionate  earnestness,  to  play  a  part  in  which  we  gath 
ered  from  many  chance  indications  that  she  was  eminently 
qualified  to  have  excelled,  that  constituted  the  puzzle.  Her 
natural  bent  was  certainly  in  that  direction,  but  something  had 
changed  it;  and  here  in  particular  the  external  tormenting 
difficulty  with  regard  to  her  occurred  with  full  force.  At  a 
very  early  period  of  our  acquaintance,  however,  I  discovered 
that  her  attitude  in  this  respect  was  not  inherent,  but  delib 
erately  chosen. 

"I  avoid  questions  of  the  day  as  much  as  possible,"  she  said 
on  one  occasion  in  answer  to  some  remark  of  mine  on  a  cur 
rent  topic  of  conversation.  "I  do  not,  as  a  rule,  read  anything 
on  such  subjects,  and  if  people  begin  to  discuss  them  in  my 
presence  I  fly  if  I  can." 

"I  should  have  thought  that  all  such  questions  would  have 
interested  you  deeply,"  I  observed. 

"They  seem  to  possess  a  quite  fatal  fascination  for  people 
who  allow  themselves  to  be  interested,"  she  answered  evasively, 
and  in  a  tone  which  forbade  further  discussion  of  the  subject. 

But  it  was  the  evasion  which  enlightened  me.  She  would 
not  have  been  afraid  of  the  "fatal  fascination"  if  she  had  never 
felt  it  herself,  and  it  was  therefore  evident  that  her  objection 
was  not  the  outcome  of  ignorant  prejudice,  but  of  knowledge 
and  set  purpose.  It  was  the  attitude  of  a  burnt  child. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  557 

The  impression  she  made  upon  the  neighbourhood  was  curi 
ous  in  one  way — it  was  so  very  mixed.  In  the  adverse  part  of 
the  mixture,  however,  a  good  deal  of  personal  pique  was 
apparent,  and  one  thing  was  always  obvious:  people  liked  her 
as  much  as  she  would  let  them.  She  even  might  have  been 
popular  had  she  chosen,  but  popularity  comes  of  condescend 
ing  to  the  level  of  the  average,  and  Evadne  was  exclusive. 
She  was  une  vraie  petite  grande  dame  at  heart  as  well  as  in 
appearance,  and  would  associate  with  none  but  her  equals; 
and  out  of  those  again  she  was  fastidious  in  the  selection  of 
her  friends.  To  servants,  people  who  knew  their  proper  place, 
and  retainers  generally,  with  legitimate  claims  to  her  consid 
eration,  she  was  all  kindly  courtesy,  and  they  were  devoted  to 
her;  but  she  met  the  aspiring  parvenu,  seeking  her  acquaint 
ance  on  false  pretences  of  equality,  with  that  disdainful  civility 
which  is  more  exasperating  than  positive  rudeness  because  a 
lady  is  only  rude  to  her  equals. 

And  hence  most  of  the  animadversion. 

But  her  manner  was  perfectly  consistent.  Her  coldness  or 
cordiality  to  mere  acquaintances  only  varied  of  necessity 
according  to  her  position  and  responsibilities.  In  her  own 
house,  where  the  onus  of  entertaining  fell  upon  her,  she  was 
charming  to  everybody  to-day,  neglecting  none,  and  giving  an 
equally  flattering  share  of  her  attention  to  each;  but  if  she 
met  the  same  people  at  somebody  else's  place  to-morrow, 
when  she  was  off  duty,  as  it  were,  she  certainly  showed  no 
more  interest  than  she  felt  in  them.  I  do  not  believe,  how 
ever,  that  she  ever  committed  a  breach  of  good  manners  in  her 
life.  When  she  spoke  to  you  she  did  so  with  the  most  perfect 
manner,  giving  you  her  whole  attention  for  the  moment,  and 
never  letting  her  eyes  wander,  as  underbred  people  so  often 
do,  especially  in  the  act  of  shaking  hands.  Fairly  considered, 
her  attitude  in  society  was  distinguished  by  an  equable  polite 
ness,  in  which,  however,  there  was  no  heart,  and  that  was  what 
the  world  missed.  She  did  not  care  for  society,  and  society 
demands  your  heart,  having  none  of  its  own.  She  certainly 
did  her  duty  in  that  state  of  life,  but  without  any  affectation 
of  delight  in  it.  She  went  to  all  the  local  entertainments  as 
custom  required,  and  suffered  from  suspended  animation  under 
the  influence  of  the  deadly  dulness  which  prevailed  at  most  of 
them,  but  in  that  she  was  not  peculiar,  and  she  could  conceal 
her  boredom  more  successfully  than  almost  anybody  else  J 
ever  knew,  and  did  so  heroically. 


558  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

In  her  religion  too  she  was  quite  conventional.  Like  most 
people  in  these  days,  she  was  a  good  Churchwoman  without 
being  in  any  sense  a  Christian.  She  did  not  love  her  neighbour 
as  herself,  or  profess  to;  but  she  went  to  church  regularly  and 
made  all  the  responses,  pleasing  the  clergy,  and  deriving  some 
solace  herself  from  the  occupation — at  least  she  always  said 
the  services  were  soothing.  She  was  genuinely  shocked  by  a 
sign  of  irreverence,  and  would  sing  the  most  jingling  nonsense 
as  a  hymn  with  perfect  gravity  and  without  perceiving  that 
there  was  any  flaw  in  it.  In  these  matters  she  showed  no 
originality  at  all.  She  would  repeat  "my  duty  towards  my 
neighbour  is  to  love  him  as  myself,  and  to  do  to  all  men  as  I 
would  that  they  should  do  unto  me"  fervently,  and  come  out 
and  cut  Mrs.  Chrimes  to  the  quick  just  afterward  because  she 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  a  tanner's  wife  and  nobody's  daugh 
ter  in  particular.  It  was  what  she  had  been  taught.  Any  one 
of  her  set  would  have  said  "my  duty  to  my  neighbour"  with 
out  a  doubt  of  their  own  sincerity,  and  given  Mrs.  Chrimes  the 
cold  shoulder  too;  the  inconsistency  is  customary,  and  in  this 
particular  Evadne  was  as  much  a  creature  of  custom  as  the  rest. 

It  was  my  fate  to  take  Evadne  in  to  dinner  on  the  first 
occasion  of  our  meeting.  I  did  not  hear  her  name  when  I  was 
presented,  and  had  no  idea  who  she  was,  but  I  was  struck  by 
her  appearance.  Her  figure  was  fragile  to  a  fault,  and  she 
was  evidently  delicate  at  that  time,  not  having  fully  recovered, 
as  I  was  afterwards  told,  from  a  severe  attack  of  Maltese 
fever;  but  her  complexion  was  not  unhealthy.  Her  features 
were  refined  and  exquisitely  feminine.  She  looked  about 
twenty,  and  her  face  in  repose  would  have  been  expressionless 
but  for  the  slight  changes  about  the  mouth  which  showed  that 
the  mind  was  working  within.  Her  long  eyes  seemed  narrow 
from  a  trick  she  had  of  holding  them  half  shut.  They  were 
slow-glancing  and  steadfast,  and  all  her  movements  struck  one 
at  first  as  being  languid,  but  that  impression  wore  off  after  a 
time,  and  then  it  became  apparent  that  they  were  merely 
rather  more  deliberate  than  is  usual  with  a  girl. 

She  answered  my  first  remarks  somewhat  shortly;  but  cer 
tainly  such  observations  as  one  finds  to  make  to  a  strange  lady 
while  taking  her  from  the  drawing  room  to  the  dining  room 
and  arranging  her  chair  at  table  are  not  usually  calculated  to 
inspire  brilliant  responses.  She  had  the  habit  of  society  to 
perfection  and  was  essentially  self-possessed,  but  I  fancied  she 
was  shy.  Coldness  is  often  a  cover  for  extreme  shyness  in 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  559 

women  of  her  station,  and  I  did  my  best  to  thaw  her ;  but  the 
soup  and  fish  had  been  removed  and  we  had  arrived  at  the 
last  entrte  before  I  made  a  remark  that  roused  her  in  the  least. 
I  forget  what  I  said  exactly,  but  it  was  some  stupid  common 
place  about  the  difficulties  of  the  political  situation  at  the 
moment. 

"I  hate  politics,"  she  then  observed.  "Business  is  a  dis 
agreeable  thing,  whether  it  be  the  business  of  the  nation  or  of 
the  shop.  I  hear  women  say  that  they  are  obliged  to  interfere 
just  now  in  all  that  concerns  themselves  because  men  have 
cheated  and  imposed  upon  them  to  a  quite  unbearable  extent. 
But  they  will  do  no  good  by  it.  Their  position  is  perfectly 
hopeless.  And  the  mere  trade  of  governing  is  a  coarse  pur 
suit,  and  therefore  most  objectionable  for  us."  She  drew  in 
her  breath  and  tightened  her  lips.  "But  for  myself,"  she 
added,  "what  I  object  to  mainly  is  the  thought.  Why  are 
they  trying  to  make  us  think?  The  great  difficulty  is  not  to 
think.  There  are  plenty  of  men  to  think  for  us,  and  while 
they  are  thinking  we  can  be  feeling.  I,  for  one,  have  no  joy 
in  eventful  living.  Feeling  is  life,  not  thought.  You  need 
not  be  afraid  to  give  us  the  suffrage,"  she  broke  off,  with  the 
first  glimpse  of  a  smile  I  had  seen  on  her  lips.  "After  the 
excitement  of  conquering  your  opposition  to  it  was  over  we 
should  all  be  content,  and  not  one  woman  in  a  hundred  would 
trouble  herself  to  vote. ' ' 

"I  believe  women  are  more  public  spirited  than  that,"  I 
answered.  "They  are  toiling  everywhere  now  for  the  further 
ance  of  all  good  works,  and  they  come  forward  courageously 
whenever  necessity  compels  them  to  take  .such  an  extreme  and 
uncongenial  course.  In  times  of  war ' 

She  had  been  leaning  back  in  her  chair  in  a  somewhat  lan 
guid  attitude,  but  now  suddenly  she  straightened  herself,  her 
face  flushed  crimson,  and  I  stopped  short.  Something  in  the 
word  "War"  either  hurt  or  excited  her.  Her  long  eyes 
opened  on  me  wide  and  bright  for  the  first  time,  and  flashed  a 
look  into  mine  more  stirring  than  the  wine  that  bubbled  in  the 
glass  between  my  fingers. 

"She  is  beautiful!"  I  said  to  myself;  but  up  to  that 
moment  I  had  not  suspected  it. 

"War!"  she  exclaimed,  speaking  under  her  breath,  but 
incisively.  "Do  not  let  us  talk  about  it!  War  is  the  dirty 
work  of  a  nation;  it  is  one^  of  the  indecencies  of  life,  and 
should  never  be  mentioned!" 


560  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

She  looked  straight  into  my  face  for  a  moment  with  eyes 
wide  open  and  lips  compressed  when  she  had  finished  speak 
ing,  and  then  took  her  menu  in  her  left  hand,  and  began  to 
study  it  with  great  apparent  attention. 

Having  discovered  that  she  thought  politics  a  coarse,  con 
taminating  business,  and  war  the  dirty  work  of  a  nation,  I 
felt  curious  to  know  her  views  on  literature  and  art. 

"I  have  just  been  reading  a  book  that  might  interest  you," 
I  began;  "it  strikes  me  as  being  so  true  to  life." 

"I  think  I  should  be  inclined  to  avoid  it,  then,"  she 
answered,  "for  I  always  find  that  'true  to  life'  in  a  book 
means  something  revolting." 

"Unfortunately,  yes,  it  often  does,"  I  agreed.  "But  still 
we  ought  to  know.  If  we  refused  to  study  the  bad  side  of  life, 
no  evil  would  ever  be  remedied." 

"Do  you  think  any  good  is  ever  done?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  a  pessimist,"  I  rejoined. 

"But  do  you  really  like  books  that  are  true  to  life  yourself?" 
she  proceeded.  "Don't  you  think  we  see  enough  of  life  with 
out  reading  about  it?  For  my  own  part  I  am  grateful  to  any 
one  who  has  the  power  to  take  me  out  of  this  world  and  make 
me  feel  something — realise  something — beyond.  The  dash 
of  the  supernatural,  for  instance,  in  'John  Inglesant,'  'Mr. 
Isaacs,'  'The  Wizard's  Son,'  and  'The  Little  Pilgrim'  has 
the  effect  of  rest  upon  my  mind,  and  gives  me  greater  pleas 
ure  than  the  most  perfect  picture  of  real  life  ever  presented. 
In  fact,  my  ideal  of  perfect  bliss  in  these  days  is  to  know 
nothing  and  believe  in  ghosts." 

This  also  was  a  comprehensive  opinion,  and  I  felt  no  further 
inclination  to  name  the  book  to  which  I  had  alluded.  But 
now  that  she  had  begun  to  respond  I  should  have  been  well 
content  to  continue  the  conversation.  There  was  something  so 
unusual  in  most  of  her  opinions  that  I  wanted  to  hear  more, 
although  I  confess  that  what  she  said  interested  me  less  than 
she  herself  did.  Before  I  could  touch  on  another  topic,  how 
ever,  the  ladies  left  the  table. 

A  big  blond  man,  middle-aged,  bald,  bland,  and  with  a 
heavy  moustache,  had  been  sitting  opposite  to  us  during  din 
ner,  and  had  attracted  my  attention  by  the  way  he  looked  at 
my  partner  from  time  to  time.  It  was  a  difficult  look  to 
describe,  because  there  was  neither  admiration  nor  interest  in 
it,  approval  nor  disapproval ;  he  might  have  looked  at  a  block 
of  wood  in  exactly  the  same  way,  and  it  could  hardly  have  been 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  561 

less  responsive.  Once,  however,  their  eyes  did  meet,  and 
then  the  glance  became  one  of  friendly  recognition  on  both 
sides;  but  even  after  that  he  still  continued  to  look  in  the  same 
queer  way,  and  it  was  this  fact  that  struck  me  as  peculiar. 

When  the  ladies  had  gone  I  happened  to  find  myself  beside 
this  gentleman,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  me  who  it  was  I 
had  taken  in  to  dinner. 

"Well,  she  is  supposed  to  be  my  wife,"  he  answered  delib 
erately;  "and  I  am  Colonel  Colquhoun." 

He  spoke  with  a  decidedly  Irish  accent  of  the  educated  sort, 
and  seemed  to  think  that  I  should  know  all  about  him  when  he 
mentioned  his  name,  but  I  had  never  heard  of  the  fellow 
before.  I  rightly  conjectured,  however,  that  he  was  the  new 
man  who  had  come  to  command  the  Dep6t  at  Morningquest 
while  I  had  been  abroad  for  my  holiday. 


CHAPTER  II. 

FIRST  impressions  are  very  precious  for  many  reasons. 
They  have  a  charm  of  their  own  to  begin  with,  and  it  is 
interesting  to  recall  them ;  and  salutary,  also,  if  not  sedative. 
Collect  a  few,  and  you  will  soon  see  clearly  the  particular  kind 
of  ass  you  are  by  the  mistakes  you  have  made  in  consequence 
of  Raving  confided  in- them.  When  I  first  met  Evadne  I  was 
still  young  enough,  in  the  opprobrious  sense  of  the  word,  to 
suppose  that  I  should  find  her  mentally,  when  I  met  her  again, 
just  where  she  was  when  she  left  me  after  our  little  chat  at  the 
dinner-table;  and  I  went  to  pay  my  duty  call  upon  her  under 
that  most  erroneous  impression.  I  intended  to  resume  our 
interrupted  conversation,  and  never  doubted  but  that  I  should 
find  her  willing  to  gratify  my  interest  in  her  peculiar  views. 
It  was  a  mistake,  however,  which  anybody,  whose  delight  in 
his  own  pursuits  is  continuous,  might  make,  and  one  into 
which  the  cleverest  man  is  prone  to  fall  when  the  object  is  a 
woman. 

I  called  on  Evadne  the  day  after  the  dinner.  She  was 
alone,  and  rising  from  a  seat  beside  a  small  work-table  as  I 
entered,  advanced  a  step,  and  held  out  a  nerveless  hand  to  me. 
She  was  not  looking  well.  Her  skin  was  white  and  opaque, 
her  eyes  dull,  her  lips  pale,  and  her  apparent  age  ten  years 
more  than  I  had  given  her  on  the  previous  evening.  ^  She  was 
a  lamplight  beauty,  I  supposed.  But  her  dress  satisfied.  Jt 


562  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

was  a  long  indoor  gown  which  indicated  without  indelicacy 
the  natural  lines  of  her  slender  figure,  and  she  was  innocent  of 
the  shocking  vulgarity  of  the  small  waist,  a  common  enough 
deformity  at  that  time,  although  now,  it  is  said,  affected  by 
third  rate  actresses  and  women  of  indifferent  character  only. 
The  waist  is  an  infallible  index  to  the  moral  worth  of  a 
woman;  very  little  of  the  latter  survives  the  pressure  of  a  tight 
ened  corset. 

"Will  you  sit  there?"  Evadne  said,  indicating  an  easy  chair 
and  subsiding  into  her  own  again  as  she  spoke.  "Colonel 
Colquhoun  is  not  at  home,"  she  added,  "but  I  hope  he  will 
return  in  time  to  see  you.  He  will  be  sorry  if  he  does  not." 

It  was  quite  the  proper  thing  to  say,  and  her  manner  was 
all  that  it  ought  to  have  been,  yet  somehow  the  effect  was  not 
encouraging.  Had  I  been  inclined  to  presume  I  should  have 
felt  myself  put  in  my  place,  but,  being  void  of  reproach,  my 
mind  was  free  to  take  notes,  and  I  decided  off-hand  that 
Evadne  was  a  society  woman  of  unexceptionable  form,  but 
ordinary,  and  my  nascent  interest  was  nowhere.  My  visit 
lasted  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  time  she  gave 
me  back  commonplace  for  commonplace  punctually,  doing 
damage  to  her  gown  with  a  pin  she  held  in  her  left  hand  the 
while,  and  only  raising  her  eyes  to  mine  for  an  instant  at  a 
time.  Nothing  could  have  been  easier,  colder,  thinner,  more 
uninspiring  than  the  fluent  periods  with  which  she  favoured 
me,  and  nothing  more  stultifying  to  my  own  brain.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  that  pin  my  wits  must  have  wandered.  As  it 
was,  however,  she  inadvertently  forced  me  to  concentrate  my 
attention  upon  the  pin,  with  fears  for  her  femoral  artery,  by 
apparently  sticking  it  into  herself  in  a  reckless  way  whenever 
there  was  a  pause,  and  each  emphatic  little  dig  startled  my 
imagination  into  lively  activity  and  kept  me  awake. 

But,  altogether,  the  visit  was  disappointing,  and  I  left  her 
under  the  impression  that  the  glimpse  of  mind  I  had  had  the 
night  before  was  delusive,  a  mere  transient  flash  of  intelligence 
caused  by  some  swift  current  of  emotion  due  to  external  influ 
ences  of  which  I  was  unaware.  Love,  or  an  effervescent  wine, 
will  kindle  some  such  spark  in  the  dullest.  But  there  was 
nothing  in  Evadne's  manner  indicative  of  the  former  influ 
ence  ;  and  as  to  the  latter,  the  only  use  she  ever  made  of  a 
wineglass  was  to  put  her  gloves  in  it. 

As  I  gathered  up  the  reins  to  drive  my  dogcart  home  that 
afternoon  I  was  conscious  of  an  impression  on  my  mind  as  of 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  563 

a  yawn.  But  I  was  relieved  to  have  the  visit  over — and  done, 
with,  as  I  at  first  believed  it  to  be;  but  it  was  not  done  with, 
for  during  the  drive  a  thought  occurred  to  me  with  chastening 
rather  than  cheering  effect,  a  thought  which  proves  that  my 
opinion  of  Evadne's  capacity  had  begun  to  be  mixed  even  at 
that  early  period  of  our  acquaintance.  I  acknowledged  to 
myself  that  one  of  us  had  been  flat  that  day,  and  had  infected 
the  other;  but  which  was  the  original  flat  one.'  Some  minds 
are  like  caves  of  stalactite  and  stalagmite,  rich  in  treasures  of 
beauty,  the  existence  of  which  you  may  never  suspect  because 
you  bring  no  light  yourself  to  dispel  the  darkness  that  conceals 
them. 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  next  time  I  saw  Evadne  it  was  at  her  own  house  also, 
and  it  was  only  a  few  days  after  my  first  visit.  I  was  driv 
ing  past,  but  encountered  Colonel  Colquhoun  at  the  gate,  and 
pulled  up  for  politeness'  sake,  as  I  had  not  seen  him  when  I 
called.  He  was  returning  from  barracks  in  a  jovial  mood, 
and  made  such  a  point  of  my  going  in  that  I  felt  obliged  to. 
We  found  Evadne  alone  in  the  drawing  room,  and  I  noticed 
to  my  surprise  that  she  was  extremely  nervous.  Her  manner 
was  self-possessed,  but  her  hands  betrayed  her.  She  fidgeted 
with  her  rings  or  her  buttons  or  her  fingers  incessantly,  and 
certainly  was  relieved  when  I  rose  to  go. 

The  little  she  said,  however,  impressed  me,  and  I  would 
gladly  have  stayed  to  hear  more  had  she  wished  it.  I  fancied, 
however,  that  she  did  not  wish  it,  and  I  accordingly  took  my 
leave  as  soon  as  I  decently  could. 

As  I  drove  home  I  found  myself  revising  my  revised  opinion 
of  her.  I  felt  sure  now  that  she  was  something  more  \han  an 
ordinary  society  woman.  Still,  like  everybody  else  at  that 
time,  I  could  not  have  said  whether  I  liked  or  disliked  her. 
But  I  wanted  to  see  her  again.  Before  I  had  an  opportunity 
of  doing  so,  however,  I  received  a  request  with  regard  to  her 
which  developed  my  latent  curiosity  into  honest  interest,  and 
added  a  certain  sense  of  duty  to  my  half  formed  wish  to  know 
more  of  her. 

The  request  arrived  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  from  Lady  Ade 
line  Hamilton-Wells,  an  intimate  friend  of  mine,  and  one  wh 
has  always  had  my  most  sincere  respect  and  affection. 
a  woman  who  lives  altogether  for  others,  devoting  the  greater 


564  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

part  of  her  ample  means,  and  all  the  influence  of  an  excellent 
position,  to  their  service ;  and  she  is  a  woman  who  stands  alone 
on  the  strength  of  her  own  individuality,  for  Mr.  Hamilton- 
Wells  does  not  count.  Her  great  charm  is  her  perfect  sincer 
ity.  She  is  essentially  true. 

When  I  saw  her  note  on  the  breakfast  table  next  day,  I 
knew  that  somehow  it  would  prove  to  be  of  more  importance 
than  the  whole  of  my  other  letters  put  together,  and  I  there 
fore  hastened  to  open  it  first. 

4 'VILLA  MIGNONNE,  i5th  March,  1880. 
"Colonel  Colquhoun,  late  of  the  Colquhoun  Highlanders, 
has  been  appointed  to  command  the  depot  at  Morningquest,  I 
hear.  Kindly  make  his  wife's  acquaintance  at  your  earliest 
convenience  to  oblige  me.  She  is  one  of  the  Fraylings  of 
Fraylingay.  Her  mother  is  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Orton  Beg's,  and 
a  very  old  friend  of  mine.  I  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  Mrs. 
Colquhoun  up  to  the  time  that  she  met  her  husband,  and  she 
was  then  a  charming  girl,  quiet,  but  clever.  I  lost  sight  of 
her  after  her  marriage,  however,  for  about  two  years,  and 
only  met  her  again  last  January  in  Paris,  when  I  found  her 
changed  beyond  all  knowing  of  her,  and  I  can't  think  why. 
She  is  not  on  good  terms  with  her  own  people  for  some  myste 
rious  reason,  but,  apart  from  that,  she  seems  to  have  every 
thing  in  the  world  she  can  want,  and  makes  quite  a  boast  of 
her  husband's  kindness  and  consideration.  I  noticed  that  she 
did  not  get  on  well  with  men  as  a  rule,  and  she  may  repel  you 
at  first,  but  persevere,  for  she  can  be  fascinating,  and  to  both 
sexes  too,  which  is  rare ;  but  I  am  told  that  people  who  begin 
by  disliking  often  end  by  adoring  her — people  with  anything 
in  them,  I  mean,  for,  as  I  have  learnt  to  observe  under  your 
able  tuition,  the  'blockhead  majority'  does  do  despitefully  by 
what  it  cannot  comprehend.  And  that  is  why  I  am  writing  to 
you.  I  am  afraid  Evadne  will  come  into  collision  with  some 
Df  the  prejudices  of  our  enlightened  neighbourhood.  She  is 
aot  perfect,  and  nothing  but  perfection  is  good  enough  for 
:ertain  angelic  women  of  our  acquaintance.  They  will  call 
her  very  character  in  question  at  the  trial  tribunals  of  their 
tea-tables  if  she  be,  as  I  think,  of  the  kind  who  cause  com 
ment;  and  they  will  throw  stones  at  her  and  make  her  suffer 
even  if  they  do  her  no  permanent  injury.  For  I  fear  that  she 
is  nervously  sensitive  both  to  praise  and  blame,  a  woman  to  be 
hurt  inevitably  in  this  battle  of  life,  and  a  complex  character 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  565 

which  I  own  I  do  not  perfectly  comprehend  myself  yet,  per 
haps  because  parts  of  it  are  still  nebulous.  But  doubtless 
your  keener  insight  will  detect  what  is  obscure  to  me,  and  I 
rely  upon  you  to  befriend  her  until  my  return  to  England, 
when  I  hope  to  be  able  to  relieve  you  of  all  responsibility. 

"Tell  me,  too,  how  you  get  on  with  Colonel  Colquhoun. 
I  should  like  to  know  what  you  think  of  them  both. 

"ADELINE  HAMILTON- WELLS." 

My  answer  to  this  letter  has  lately  come  into  my  possession, 
and  I  give  it  as  being  of  more  value  probably  than  any  subse 
quent  record  of  these  early  impressions : 

"FOUNTAIN  TOWERS,  ipth  March,  1880. 
"My  DEAR  LADY  ADELINE: 

"I  had  made  Mrs.  Colquhoun's  acquaintance  before  I 
received  your  letter,  and  have  seen  her  three  times  altogether. 
And  three  times  has  not  been  enough  to  enable  me  to  form  a 
decided  opinion  of  her  character,  which  seems  to  be  out  of  the 
common.  Had  you  asked  me  what  I  thought  of  her  after  our 
first  meeting,  I  should  have  said  she  is  peculiar ;  after  the  second 
I  am  afraid  I  should  have  presumed  to  say  not  *  much' ;  but 
now,  after  the  third,  I  am  prepared  to  maintain  that  she  is 
decidedly  interesting.  Her  manner  is  just  a  trifle  stiff  to 
begin  with,  but  that  is  so  evidently  the  outcome  of  shyness 
that  I  cannot  understand  anybody  being  repelled  by  it.  Her 
voice  is  charming,  every  tone  is  exquisitely  modulated,  and 
she  expresses  herself  with  ease,  and  with  a  certain  grace  of 
diction  peculiarly  her  own.  It  is  a  treat  to  hear  English 
spoken  as  she  speaks  it.  She  uses  little  or  no  slang  and  few 
abbreviations,  but  she  is  perfectly  fearless  in  her  choice  of 
words,  and  invariably  employs  the  one  which  expresses  her 
meaning  best,  however  strong  it  may  be,  yet  somehow  the 
effect  is  never  coarse.  Yesterday  she  wanted  to  know  the 
name  of  an  officer  now  at  the  barracks,  and  made  her  husband 
understand  which  she  meant  in  this  way:  'He  is  a  little  man,' 
she  said,  'who  puts  his  hands  deep  down  in  his  pockets, 
hunches  up  his  shoulders,  and  says  damn  emphatically.'  How 
she  can  use  such  words  without  offence  is  a  mystery;  but 
she  certainly  does. 

"All  this,  however,  you  must  have  observed  for  yourself, 
and  I  know  that  it  is  merely  skimming  about  your  question, 
not  answering  it.  But  I  humbly  confess,  though  it  cost  me 


566  THE  HEAVEtfLY  TWINS. 

your  confidence  in  my  'keen  insight*  forever,  that  I  cannot 
answer  it.  So  far,  Mrs.  Colquhoun  has  appealed  to  me  merely 
as  a  text  upon  which  to  hang  conclusions.  I  do  not  in  the 
least  know  what  she  is,  but  I  can  see  already  what  she  will 
become — if  her  friends  are  not  careful;  and  that  is  a  phrase- 
maker. 

"Colonel  Colquhoun  is  likely  to  be  a  greater  favourite  here 
than  his  wife.  Ladies  say  he  is  'very  nice!'  'so  genial,'  and 
'a  thorough  Irishman!'  whatever  they  mean  by  that.  .He  does 
affect  both  brogue  and  blarney  when  he  thinks  proper.  Per 
haps,  however,  I  ought  to  tell  you  at  once  that  I  do  not  like 
him,  and  am  not  at  all  inclined  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance. 
He  strikes  me  as  being  a  very  commonplace  kind  of  military 
man,  tittle-tattling,  idle,  and  unintellectual;  and  in  the  habit 
of  filling  up  every  interval  of  life  with  brandy  and  soda  water. 
The  creature  is  rapidly  becoming  extinct,  but  specimens  still 
linger  in  certain  districts.  And  I  should  judge  him  upon  the 
whole  to  be  the  sort  of  man  who  pleases  by  his  good  manners 
those  whom  he  does  not  repel  by  his  pet  vices — most  people, 
that  is  to  say.  The  world  is  constant  and  kind  to  its  own. 

"They  are  at  As-You-Like-It,  the  gloomiest  house  in  the 
neighbourhood.  I  fancy  Colonel  Colquhoun  took  it  to  suit 
his  own  convenience  without  consulting  his  wife's  tastes  or 
requirements,  and  he  will  be  out  too  much  to  suffer  himself, 
but  I  fear  she  will  feel  it.  She  is  a  fragile  little  creature,  for 
whose  health  and  well-being  generally  I  should  say  that  bright 
rooms  and  fresh  air  are  essential.  The  air  at  As-You-Like-It 
is  not  bad,  but  the  rooms  are  damp.  That  west  window  in 
the  drawing  room  is  the  one  bright  spot  in  the  house,  and  the 
sun  only  shines  on  it  in  the  afternoon.  I  am  sorry  that  I 
cannot  answer  your  letter  more  satisfactorily,  but  you  may 
rest  assured  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  Mrs.  Colquhoun  any 
service  in  my  power. 

"Diavolo  wrote  and  told  me  the  other  day  that  his  colonel 
thinks  him  too  good  for  the  Guards,  and  has  strongly  advised 
him,  if  he  wishes  to  continue  in  the  service,  to  exchange  into 
some  other  regiment!  I  have  asked  him  to  come  and  stay 
with  me,  and  hope  to  discover  what  he  has  been  up  to.  With 
your  permission,  I  should  urge  him  to  apply  for  the  Depot  at 
Morningquest.  It  would  do  the  duke  good  to  have  him  about 
again,  and  Angelica  would  be  delighted;  and,  besides,  Colo 
nel  Colquhoun  would  keep  his  eye  on  him  and  put  up  with 
more  pranks  probably  than  those  who  know  not  Joseph. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  567 

"Angelica  is  very  well  and  happy.  Her  devotion  to  her 
husband  continues  to  be  exemplary,  and  he  has  been  good- 
natured  enough  to  oblige  her  by  delivering  some  of  her 
speeches  in  parliament  lately,  with  excellent  effect.  She  read 
the  one  now  in  preparation  aloud  to  us  the  last  time  I  was  at 
Ilverthorpe.  It  struck  me  as  being  extremely  able,  and 
eminent  for  refinement  as  well  as  for  force.  Mr.  Kilroy  him 
self  was  delighted  with  it,  as  indeed  he  is  with  all  that  she 
does  now.  He  only  interrupted  her  once.  'I  should  say  the 
country  is  going  to  the  dogs,  there,'  he  suggested.  'Then,  I 
am  afraid  your  originality  would  provoke  criticism,'  Angelica 
answered. 

"When  do  you  return?  I  avoid  Hamilton  House  in  your 
absence,  it  looks  so  dreary  all  shut  up. 

"Yours  always,  dear  Lady  Adeline, 

"GEORGE  BETON  GALBRAITH." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HAVING  despatched  my  letter,  I  began  to  consider  how  I 
might  best  follow  up  my  acquaintance  with  Evadne  with 
a  view  to  such  intimacy  as  should  enable  me  at  any  time  to 
have  the  right  to  be  of  service  to  her  should  occasion  offer, 
and  during  the  day  I  arranged  a  dinner  party  for  her  special 
benefit,  not  a  very  original  idea,  but  by  accident  it  answered 
the  purpose. 

The  Colquhouns  accepted  my  invitation,  but  when  the  even 
ing  arrived  Evadne  came  alone,  and  quite  half  an  hour  before 
the  time  I  had  dressed,  luckily,  and  was  strolling  about  the 
grounds  when  I  saw  the  carriage  drive  up  the  avenue,  and 
hastened  round  the  house  to  meet  her  at  the  door. 

"The  days  are  getting  quite  long,"  she  said,  as  I  helped  her 
to  alight.  Then,  glancing  up  at  a  clock  in  the  hall,  she 
happened  to  notice  the  time,  "Is  that  clock  right?"  she 
asked. 

"It  is,"  I  answered. 

"Then  my  coachman  must  have  mistaken  the  distancey'-'  she 
said.  "He  assured  me  that  it  would  take  an  hour  to  drive 
here.  But  I  shall  not  have  occanon  to  regret  the  mistake  if 
you  will  let  me  see  the  house,"  she  added  gracefully.  "It 
seems  to  be  a  charming  old  place." 

It  would  have  been  a  little  awkward  for  both  of  us  but  for 


$68  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

this  happy  suggestion;  there  were,  however,  points  of  interest 
enough  about  the  house  to  fill  up  a  longer  interval  even. 

"But  I  am  forgetting!"  she  exclaimed,  as  I  led  her  to  the 
library.  "I  received  this  note  from  Colonel  Colquhoun  at  the 
last  moment.  He  is  detained  in  barracks  to-day,  most  unfor 
tunately,  and  will  not  be  able  to  get  away  until  late.  He  begs 
me  to  make  you  his  apologies." 

"I  hope  we  shall  see  him  during  the  evening,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  "he  is  sure  to  come  for  me." 

There  was  a  portrait  of  Lady  Adeline  in  the  library,  and  she 
noticed  it  at  once. 

"Do  you  know  the  Hamilton- Wellses?"  she  asked,  brighten 
ing  out  of  her  former  manner  instantly. 

"We  are  very  old  friends,"  I  answered.  "Their  place  is 
next  to  mine,  you  know." 

"I  did  not  know,"  she  said.  "I  have  never  been  there. 
Lady  Adeline  knows  my  people,  and  used  to  come  to  our 
house  a  good  deal  at  one  time;  that  is  where  I  met  her.  I 
like  her  very  much — and  trust  her." 

"That  everybody  does." 

"Do  you  know  her  widowed  sister,  Lady  Claudia  Beau 
mont?" 

"Yes." 

"And  their  brother,  Lord  Dawne?" 

"Yes — well.  He  and  I  were  'chums'  at  Harrow  and 
Oxford,  and  a  common  devotion  to  the  same  social  subjects 
has  kept  us  together  since." 

"He  is  a  man  of  most  charming  manners/'  she  said 
thoughtfully. 

"He  is,"  I  answered  cordially.  "I  know  no  one  else  so 
fastidiously  refined,  without  being  a  prig." 

She  was  sitting  on  the  arm  of  a  chair  with  Adeline's  photo 
graph  in  her  hand,  and  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  at  it 
meditatively. 

You.  must  know  that  eccentric  'Ideala,^as  they  call  her> 
>?"  she  said  at  last,  glancing  up  at  me  gravely. 

^  We  do  not  consider  her  eccentric,"  I  said. 

1  .'AY ell,  you  must  confess  that  she  moves  in  an  orbit  of  her 
own,"  she  rejoined. 

"Not  alone,  then,"  I  answered,  "so  many  luminaries  circle 
round  her." 

"Lady  Adeline  criticises  her  severely,"  she  ventured,  with 
a  touch  of  asperity. 


also?1 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  569 

"Les  absents  ont  toujours  torts,"  I  answered.  "But,  at  the 
same  time,  when  Lady  Adeline  criticises  Ideala  severely,  I  am 
sure  she  deserves  it.  Her  faults  are  patent  enough,  and  most 
provoking,  because  she  could  correct  them  if  she  would.  You 
don't  know  her  well?" 

"No." 

"Ah!  Then  I  understand  why  you  do  not  like  her.  She 
is  not  a  person  who  shows  to  advantage  on  a  slight  acquaint 
ance,  and  in  that  she  is  just  the  reverse  of  most  people;  her 
faults  are  all  on  the  surface  and  appear  at  once,  her  good 
qualities  only  come  out  by  degrees." 

"I  feel  reproved,"  Evadne  answered,  smiling.  "But  it  is 
really  hard  to  believe  that  the  main  fabric  of  a  character  is 
beautiful  when  one  only  sees  the  spoilt  bits  of  it.  You  must 
be  quite  one  of  that  clique,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  which 
expressed  "What  a  pity!"  quite  clearly. 

"You  are  not  interested  in  social  questions?"  I  ventured. 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  answered  decidedly,  "I  hate  them  all." 

She  put  the  photograph  down,  and  looked  round  the  room. 

"Where  does  that  door  lead  to?"  she  asked,  indicating  one 
opposite. 

"Into  my  study." 

"Then  you  do  not  study  in  the  library?" 

"No.  I  read  here  for  relaxation.  When  I  want  to  work  I 
go  in  there. 

"Let  me  see  where  you  work?" 

I  hesitated,  for  I  kept  my  tools  there,  and  I  did  not  know 
what  might  be  about. 

"It  is  professional  work  I  do  there,"  I  said. 

She  was  quick  to  see  my  meaning:  "Oh,  in  that  case,"  she 
began  apologetically.     "I  am  indiscreet,  forgive  me. 
not  realized  your  position  yet,  you  see.     It  is  so  anomalous 
being  both  a  doctor  and  a  country  gentleman.     But  what  a 
dear  old  place  this  is!     I  cannot  think  how  you  can  mix  up 
medical  pursuits  with  the  names  of  your  ancestors.     We"^3 
you    I   should  belong  to    the   Psychical    Society   only, 
material  for  that  kind  of  research  lingers  long  in  these  deep 
recesses.     It  is  built  up  in  thick  walls,  and  concealed  behind 
oak  panels.     Oh,  how  can  you  be  a  doctor  here ! ' 

tot  a  doctor  here,"  I  assured  her,  "at  least  only  in 


I  am  not 
me  morning  when  I  make  this  my  consulting  room 

"I  am  glad,"  she  said.     "This  is  a  place  m  which  t 
human," 


57°  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"Is  a  doctor  not  human,  then?"  I  asked,  a  trifle  piqued. 

"No,"  she  answered,  laughing.  "A  doctor  is  not  a  man  to 
his  lady  patients;  but  an  abstraction — a  kindly  abstraction  for 
whom  one  sends  when  a  man's  presence  would  be  altogether 
inconvenient.  If  I  am  ever  ill  I  will  send  for  you  in  the 
abstract  confidently." 

"Well,  I  hope  I  may  more  than  answer  your  expectations  in 
that  character,"  I  replied,  "should  anything  so  unfortunate  as 
sickness  or  sorrow  induce  you  to  do  me  the  favour  of  accept 
ing  my  services." 

She  gave  me  one  quick  grave  glance.  "I  know  you  mean 
it,"  she  said;  "and  I  know  you  mean  more.  You  will  be 
friend  me  if  I  ever  want  a  friend.'* 

"I  will,"  I  answered. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said. 

It  was  exactly  what  I  had  intended  with  regard  to  her  since 
I  had  received  Lady  Adeline's  letter,  but  a  compact  entered 
into  on  the  occasion  of  our  fourth  meeting  struck  me  as  sud 
den.  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  it,  however,  at  the  moment, 
for  Evadne  followed  up  her  thanks  with  a  question. 

"How  do  you  come  to  have  an  abode  of  this  kind  and  be  a 
doctor  also?"  she  asked. 

"The  house  came  to  me  from  an  uncle,  who  died  suddenly, 
just  after  I  had  become  a  fully  qualified  practitioner,"  I  told 
her;  "but  there  is  not  income  enough  attached  to  it  to  keep  it 
up  properly,  and  I  wanted  to  live  here;  and  I  wanted  besides 
to  continue  my  professional  career,  so  I  thought  I  would  try 
and  make  the  one  wish  help  the  other." 

"And  the  experiment  has  succeeded?" 

"Yes." 


"Are  you  very  fond  of  your  profession?" 
"It  is  the  finest  profession  in  the  world." 


| 'All  medical  men  say  that,"  she  remarked,  smiling. 

"Well,  I  can  claim  the  merit — if  it  be  a  merit — of  having 
arrived  at  that  conclusion  before  I  became " 

"Eminent?"  she  suggested. 

"Before  I  had  taken  my  degree,"  I  corrected. 

"So  you  came  and  established  yourself  as  a  doctor  in  this 
old  place?" 

She  glanced  round  meditatively. 

"That  seems  to  surprise  you?" 

"It  is  the  dual  character  that  surprises  me,*'  she  answered. 
"Your  practice  makes  you  a  professional  man,  and  you  are  a 


TftE  HZAVENLY  TWINS.  571 

county   magnate   also   by   right   of  your   name   and  connec 
tions. 

She  evidently  knew  all  about  me  already,  and  I  was  flattered 
by  the  interest  she  showed,  which  I  thought  special  until  I 
found  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  knowing,  and  knowing 
accurately  too,  all  about  everyone  with  whom  she  was  brought 
into  close  contact. 

"I  cannot  imagine  how  you  find  time  for  it  all,"  she  con 
tinued;  "you  are  not  a  general  practitioner,  I  believe." 

"Not  exactly,"  I  answered,  "Of  course  I  never  refuse  to 
attend  in  any  case  of  emergency,  but  my  regular  practice  is  all 
consultation,  and  my  speciality  has  somehow  come  to  be 
nervous  disorders.  Sometimes  I  have  my  house  full  of 
patients — interesting  cases  which  require  close  attention." 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "and  poor  people  who  cannot  pay  as 
often  as  the  rich  who  will  give  you  anything  to  attend  them." 

"I  should  very  much  like  you  to  believe  the  most  exagger 
ated  accounts  of  my  generosity  if  any  such  are  about,"  I  has 
tened  to  assure  her;  "but  honesty  compels  me  to  explain  that 
I  benefit  by  every  case  which  I  treat  successfully." 

"Go  to!  you  do  not  deceive  me,"  she  answered,  laughing 
up  in  my  face. 

Her  manner  had  quite  changed  now.  She  recognized  me  as 
one  of  her  own  caste,  and  knew  that  however  friendly  and 
familiar  she  might  be  I  should  not  presume. 

When  it  was  time  to  think  of  my  other  guests,  she  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  remain  in  the  library  until  they  had  all  arrived. 

"It  would  be  such  an  exertion  to  have  to  explain  to  each 
one  separately  how  it  is  that  I  am  here  alone — and  I  do  so 
dislike  strange  people,"  she  added  plaintively.  "It  makes  me 
quite  ill  to  have  to  meet  them.  And,  besides,"  she  broke  out 
laughing,  "as  it  is  a  new  place,  perhaps  I  ought  to  try  and 
make  myself  interesting  and  of  importance  to  the  inhabitants 
by  coming  in  late!  When  you  keep  people  waiting  for  dinner 
you  do  become  of  consequence  to  them — to  their  comfort— 
and  then  they  think  of  you!" 

"But  not  very  charitably  under  such  circumstances,"  I 
suggested. 

"That  depends,"  she  answered.  "If  you  arrive  in  time  to 
save  their  appetites,  they  will  associate  a  pleasant  sense  of 
relief  with  your  coming  which  will  make  them  think  well  of 
you  for  evermore.  They  mistake  the  sensation  for  an  opinion, 
and  as  they  like  it,  they  call  it  a  good  one!" 


$7*  THE  HEAVENLY  TWtttS. 

She  looked  pretty  when  she  unbent  like  that  and  talked 
nonsense — or  what  was  apt  to  strike  you  as  nonsensical  until 
you  came  to  consider  it.  For  there  was  often  a  depth  of 
worldly  wisdom  and  acuteness  underlying  her  most  apparently 
careless  sallies  that  surprised  you. 

She  lingered  long  in  the  library — so  long  that  at  first  I  felt 
impatiently  that  she  might  have  remembered  that  I  had  an 
appetite  as  well  as  the  strangers  within  my  gates  with  whom 
it  apparently  pleased  her  to  trifle,  and  I  felt  obliged,  during  an 
awkward  pause,  to  account  for  the  delay  by  explaining  for 
whom  we  were  waiting.  If  she  were  in  earnest  about  wishing 
to  make  a  sensation  or  attract  special  attention  to  herself,  she 
had  gained  her  end,  for  the  moment  I  mentioned  the  name  of 
Colquhoun,  people  began  to  speak  of  her,  carefully,  because 
nobody  knew  as  yet  who  her  friends  might  be,  but  with  inter 
est.  I  never  supposed  for  a  moment,  however,  that  she  was 
in  earnest.  There  was  something  proudly  self-respecting 
about  her  which  forbade  all  idea  of  anything  so  paltry  as 
manoeuvring.  I  did  at  first  think  that  she  might  have  fallen 
asleep;  but,  afterward,  on  recollecting  that  she  was  a  nervous 
subject,  it  occurred  to  me  that  her  courage  might  have  failed 
her,  and  that  she  would  never  present  herelf  to  a  whole  room 
full  of  strangers  alone.  Excusing  myself  to  my  guests,  there 
fore,  as  best  I  could,  I  went  at  last  to  the  library,  and  found 
that  this  latter  surmise  was  correct.  She  was  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  with  her  hands  clasped,  evidently  in  an 
agony  of  nervous  trepidation.  I  went  up  to  her,  however,  as 
if  I  had  not  noticed  it,  and  offered  her  my  arm. 

"If  you  will  come  now,  Mrs.  Colquhoun,"  I  said,  "we  will 
go  to  dinner." 

She  took  my  arm  without  a  word,  but  I  felt  as  soon  as  she 
touched  me  that  her  confidence  was  rapidly  returning,  and  by 
the  time  we  had  reached  the  drawing  room,  and  I  had 
explained  that  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  been  detained  by  duty 
most  unfortunately,  but  Mrs.  Colquhoun  had  been  kind 
enough  to  come  nevertheless,  she  had  quite  recovered  herself, 
and  only  a  slight  exaggeration  of  the  habitual  noli  me  tangere 
of  her  ordinary  manner  remained  in  evidence  of  her  shyness. 

When  we  were  seated  at  table,  and  she  was  undoubtedly  at 
her  ease  again,  I  expected  to  see  her  vivacity  revive;  but  the 
nervous  crisis  had  evidently  gone  deeper  than  her  manner,  and 
affected  her  mood.  I  had  left  her  all  life  and  animation,  a 
mere  girl  bent  upon  pleasure,  but  with  every  evidence  of  con- 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  573 

siderable  capacity  for  the  pursuit;  but  now,  at  dinner,  she  sat 
beside  me,  cold,  constrained,  and  listless,  neither  eating  nor 
interested;  pretending,  however,  courageously,  and  probably 
deceiving  those  about  her  with  the  even  flow  of  polished 
periods  which  she  kept  up  to  conceal  her  indifference.  I 
thought  perhaps  her  husband's  absence  had  something  to  do 
with  it,  and  expected  to  see  her  brighten  up  when  he  arrived. 
He  did  not  come  at  all,  however,  and  only  once  at  table  did 
she  show  any  sign  of  the  genuine  intellectual  activity  which  I 
was  now  pretty  sure  was  either  concealed  or  slumbering  in  these 
moods.  The  sign  she  made  was  deceptive,  and  probably  only 
a  man  of  my  profession,  accustomed  to  observe,  and  often 
obliged  to  judge  more  by  indications  of  emotion  than  by  words, 
would  have  recognized  its  true  significance.  In  the  midst  of 
her  chatter  she  became  suddenly  silent,  and  one  might  have 
been  excused  for  supposing  that  her  mind  was  weary;  but  that, 
in  truth,  was  the  moment  when  she  really  roused  herself,  and 
began  to  follow  the  conversation  with  close  attention.  There 
was  an  old  bore  of  a  doctor  at  table  that  evening  who  would 
insist  on  talking  professionally,  a  thing  which  does  not  often 
happen  in  my  house,  for  I  think,  of  all  "shop,"  ours  is  the 
most  unsuitable  for  general  conversation  because  of  the  morbid 
fascination  it  has  for  most  people.  Ladies  especially  will 
listen  with  avidity  to  medical  matters,  perceiving  nothing  grue 
some  in  the  details  at  the  moment  ;  but  afterward  developing 
nerves  on  the  subject,  and  probably  giving  the  young  practi 
tioner  good  reason  to  regret  unwary  confidences.  I  tried  to 
stave  off  the  topic,  but  the  will-power  of  the  majority  was 
against  me,  and  finally  I  found  myself  submitting,  and  follow 
ing  my  friend's  unwholesome  lead. 

"You  must  have  some  curious  experiences,  in  your  branch 
of  the  profession  especially,"  the  lady  on  my  left  remarked. 

"We  do,"  I  said,  answering  her  expectations  against  my 
better  judgment,  and  partly,  I  think,  because  this  was  the 
moment  when  Evadne  woke  up.  "I  have  had  some  myself. 
The  extraordinary  systems  of  fraud  and  deceit  which  are  car 
ried  on  by  certain  patients,  for  no  apparent  purpose,  would 
astonish  you.  Their  delight  is  essentially  in  the  doing,  and 
the  one  and  only  end  of  it  all  is  invariably  the  same :  a  morbid 
desire  to  excite  sympathy  by  making  themselves  interesting. 
I  had  one  girl  under  my  charge  for  six  months,  during  which 
time  she  suffered  daily  from  long  fainting  fits  and  other  dis 
tressing  symptoms  which  reduced  her  to  the  last  degree  of 


574  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

emaciation,  and  puzzled  me  extremely  because  there  was 
nothing  to  account  for  them.  Her  heart  was  perfectly  sound, 
yet  she  would  lie  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  livid  and  all  but 
pulseless,  by  the  hour  together.  There  was  no  disease  of  any 
organ,  but  certain  symptoms,  which  could  not  have  been  simu 
lated,  pointed  to  extensive  disorder  of  one  at  least.  It  was  a 
case  of  hysteria  clearly,  but  no  treatment  had  the  slightest 
effect  upon  her,  and,  fearing  for  her  life,  I  took  her  at  last  to 
Sir  Shadwell  Rock,  the  best  specialist  for  nervous  disorders 
now  alive.  He  confirmed  my  diagnosis,  and  ordered  the  girl 
to  be  sent  away  from  her  friends  with  a  perfect  stranger,  a 
hard,  cold,  unsympathetic  person  who  would  irritate  her,  if 
possible;  and  she  was  not  to  be  allowed  luxuries  of  any  kind. 
I  had  considered  the  advisability  of  such  a  course  myself,  but 
the  girl  seemed  too  far  gone  for  it,  and  I  own  I  never  expected 
to  see  her  alive  again.  After  she  went  abroad  I  heard  that 
when  she  fainted  she  was  left  just  where  she  fell  to  recover  as 
best  she  could,  and  when  any  particular  food  disagreed  with 
her,  it  was  served  to  her  incessantly  until  she  professed  to 
have  got  over  her  dislike  for  it;  but  in  spite  of  such  heroic 
treatment  she  was  not  at  that  time  any  better.  Then  I  lost 
sight  of  her,  and  had  forgotten  the  case,  when  one  day,  with 
out  any  warning  whatever,  she  came  into  my  consulting  room, 
looking  the  picture  of  health  and  happiness,  and  with  a  very 
fine  child  in  her  arms.  'I  suppose  you  are  surprised  to  see  me 
alive,'  she  said.  4I  am  married  now,  and  this  is  my  boy — isn't 
he  a  beauty?  And  I  am  very  happy — or  rather  I  should  be 
but  for  one  thing — that  illness  of  mine — when  I  gave  you  so 

much  trouble '     'Oh,  don't  mention  that,'  I  interrupted, 

thinking  she  had  come  to  overwhelm  me  with  undeserved 
thanks:  'My  only  trouble  was  that  I  could  do  nothing  for  you. 
I  hope  you  recovered  soon  after  you  went  abroad?'  'As  soon 
as  I  thought  fit,'  she  answered  significantly,  'and  that  is  what 
I  have  come  about.  I  want  to  confess.  I  want  to  relieve  my 
mind  of  a  burden  of  deceit.  Doctor — I  was  never  insensible 
in  one  of  those  fainting  fits;  I  never  had  a  symptom  that  I 
could  not  have  controlled.  I  was  shamming  from  beginning 
to  end.'  'Well,  you  nearly  shammed  yourself  out  of  the 
world,'  I  said.  'Tell  me  how  you  did  it?'  'I  can't  tell  you 
exactly,'  she  answered.  'When  I  wanted  to  appear  to  faint  I 
just  set  my  mind  somehow — I  can't  do  it  now  that  I  am  happy, 
and  have  plenty  of  interests  in  life.  At  that  time  I  had  noth 
ing  to  take  me  out  of  myself,  and  those  daily  doings  were  an 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  575 

endless  source  of  occupation  and  entertainment  to  me.     But 
lately  I  have  had  qualms  of  conscience  on  the  subject.'  " 

"And  was  she  cured?"  Evadne  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  answered.  "There  was  no  fear  for  her  after 
she  confessed.  When  the  moral  consciousness  returns  in  such 
cases,  and  there  is  nothing  but  relief  of  mind  to  be  gained  by 
confession,  the  cure  is  generally  complete." 

"But  what  could  have  been  the  motive  of  such  a  fraud?" 
somebody  asked. 

"It  is  difficult  to  imagine,"  I  answered.  "Had  it  been 
more  extensive  the  explanation  would  have  been  easier;  but  as 
myself  and  the  young  lady's  parents  were  her  only  audience,  I 
have  never  been  able  to  account  for  it  satisfactorily." 

I  noticed,  while  I  was  speaking,  that  Evadne  was  thinking 
the  problem  out  for  herself. 

"She  would  not  have  given  herself  so  much  trouble  without 
a  very  strong  motive,"  she  now  suggested,  "and  human  pas 
sions  are  the  strongest  motives  for  human  actions,  are  they 
not?" 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  "but  the  question  is,  what  passion 
prompted  her.  It  could  not  have  been  either  anger,  ambition, 
revenge,  or  jealousy." 

"No,"  she  answered,  in  the  matter-of-fact  tone  of  one  who 
merely  arrives  at  a  logical  conclusion,  "and  it  must  therefore 
have  been  love.  She  was  in  love  with  you,  and  tried  in  that 
way  to  excite  your  sympathy  and  attract  your  attention." 

"It  is  quite  evident  that  view  of  the  case  never  occurred  to 
you,  Galbraith,"  Dr.  Lauder  observed,  laughing. 

And  I  own  that  I  was  taken  aback  by  it,  considerably — not 
of  course  as  it  affected  myself,  but  because  it  gave  me  a 
glimpse  of  an  order  of  mind  totally  different  from  that  with 
which  I  should  have  credited  Evadne  earlier  in  the  evening. 

"But  how  do  you  treat  these  cases?"  she  proceeded.  "Is 
there  any  cure  for  such  depravity?'* 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  answered  confidently.  "They  are  being 
cured  every  day.  So  long  as  there  is  no  organic  disease,  I  am 
quite  sure  that  wholesome  surroundings,  patience  and  kind 
care,  and  steady  moral  influence  will  do  all  that  is  necessary. 
The  great  thing  is  to  awaken  the  conscience.  Patients  who 
once  feel  sincerely  that  such  courses  are  depraved  may  cure 
themselves— if  they  are  not  robbed  of  their  self-respect.  The 
most  hopeless  cases  I  have,  come  from  that  class  of  people 
who  give  each  other  bits  of  their  mind— very  objectionable 


576  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

bits,  consisting  of  vulgar  abuse  for  the  most  part,  and  the  call 
ing  of  names  that  rankle.  The  operators  seem  to  derive  a 
solemn  kind  of  self-satisfaction  from  the  treatment  themselves, 
but  it  does  for  the  patient  almost  invariably." 

This  led  to  a  discussion  on  bad  manners,  during  which 
Evadne  relapsed.  I  saw  the  light  go  out  of  her  eyes,  and  she 
showed  no  genuine  interest  in  anything  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening;  and  when  I  had  wrapped  her  up,  and  seen  her  drive 
away,  I  somehow  felt  that  the  entertainment  had  been  a  failure 
so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  and  I  wondered  why  she  should 
so  soon  be  bored.  At  her  age  she  should  have  had  vitality 
enough  in  herself  to  carry  her  through  an  evening. 

"Colonel  Colquhoun  will  regret  that  he  has  not  been  able 
to  come,"  she  said  as  she  wished  me  good-bye. 

And  I  noticed  afterward  that  she  was  always  most  punc 
tilious  about  such'  little  formalities.  She  never  omitted  any 
trifle  of  etiquette,  and  I  doubt  if  she  could  have  dined  without 
"dressing"  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER  V. 

COLONEL  COLQUHOUN  called  next  day  himself  to 
\_j  explain  his  absence  on  the  previous  evening.  I  forget 
what  excuse  he  made,  but  it  sufficed. 

I  saw  Evadne,  too,  that  same  afternoon.  She  had  been  to 
make  a  call  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  was  waiting  at  a  little 
country  station  to  return  by  train.  Something  peculiar  in  her 
attitude  attracted  my  attention  before  I  recognized  her.  She 
was  standing  alone  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  platform  her 
slender  figure  silhouetted  with  dark  distinctness  against  the 
sloping  evening  sky.  She  might  have  been  waiting  anxiously 
for  someone  to  come  that  way,  or  she  might  have  been  waiting 
for  a  train  with  tragic  purpose.  She  wore  a  long  dark  green 
dress,  the  train  of  which  she  was  holding  up  in  her  left  hand. 
She  showed  no  surprise  when  I  spoke  to  her,  although  she  had 
not  heard  me  approach. 

"What  do  the  people  here  think  of  me?"  she  asked  abruptly. 
"What  do  they  say?" 

"They  have  yet  to  discover  your  faults,"  I  answered. 

She  compressed  her  lips,  and  looked  down  the  line  again. 
That  is  my  train,  I  think,"  she  said  presently. 

When  I  had  put  her  into  a  carnage,  she  shook  hands  with 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  577 

me,  thanking  me  gravely,  then  threw  herself  back  in  her  seat, 
and  was  borne  away. 

That  was  literally  all  that  passed  between  us,  yet  she  left 
me  standing  there,  staring  after  her  stupidly,  and  curiously 
impressed.  There  was  always  a  suggestion  of  something 
unusual  about  her  which  piqued  my  interest  and  kept  it 
alive. 

During  the  summer  and  autumn  I  met  her  at  various  places, 
and  saw  her  also  in  her  own  house,  and  she  seemed,  so  far  as 
an  outsider  could  judge,  as  happily  situated  as  most  women 
of  her  station,  and  not  at  all  likely  to  require  any  special 
service  at  the  hands  of  a  friend.  Her  husband  was  a  good 
deal  older  than  herself,  but  the  disparity  made  no  apparent 
difference  to  their  comfort.  When  he  was  absent  she  never 
talked  about  him,  but  when  he  was  present  she  treated  him 
with  unvarying  consideration,  and  they  appeared  together 
everywhere.  Mindful  of  my  promise  to  Lady  Adeline,  I  showed 
them  both  every  attention  in  my  power.  I  called  regularly, 
and  Colonel  Colquhoun  as  regularly  returned  my  calls,  some 
times  bringing  Evadne  with  him. 

The  winter  that  year  came  upon  us  suddenly  and  sharply, 
and  until  it  set  in  I  had  only  seen  her  under  the  most  ordinary 
circumstances;  but  at  the  beginning  of  the  cold  weather,  she 
had  an  illness  which  was  the  means  of  my  learning  to  know 
more  of  her  true  character  and  surroundings  in  a  few  days  than 
I  should  probably  have  done  in  years  of  mere  social  inter 
course.  I  stopped  for  a  moment  one  morning  as  I  drove  past 
As-You-Like-It  to  leave  her  some  flowers,  and  her  own  maid, 
who  opened  the  door,  showed  me  upstairs  to  a  small  sitting 
room,  the  ante-chamber  to  another  room  beyond,  at  the  door 
of  which  she  knocked. 

I  heard  no  answer,  but  the  girl  entered  and  announced  me. 
I  followed  her  in,  and  found  myself  face  to  face  with  Evadne. 
She  was  in  bed.  The  maid  withdrew,  closing  the  door 
after  her. 

"What  nonsense  is  this— I  am  exceedingly  sorry,  doctor! 
Evadne  exclaimed  feebly.  "That  stupid  girl  must  have 
thought  that  you  were  coming  to  see  me  professionally.  But, 
oh!  do  let  me  look  at  the  flowers!"  and  she  stretched  out  her 
left  hand  for  them,  offering  me  her  right  at  the  same  time  to 
shake,  and  burying  her  face  and  her  embarrassment  together. 
Her  hand  was  hot  and  dry. 

"I  don't  require  you  in  the  least,  doctor/*  she  assured  me, 


578  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

looking  up  brightly  from  the  flowers,  "but  I  am  very  glad  to 
see  you." 

"Why  are  you  in  bed?"  I  asked,  responding  cheerfully  to 
this  cheerful  greeting. 

"Oh,  I  have  a  little  cold,"  she  answered. 

I  drew  a  chair  to  the  bedside,  laid  my  hand  on  her  wrist, 
and  watched  her  closely  as  I  questioned  her — cough  incessant ; 
respiration  rapid;  temperature  high,  I  judged;  pulse  120. 

"How  long  have  you  had  this  cold?"   I  asked. 

"About  a  week,"  she  said.  "It  makes  me  ache  all  over, 
you  know,  and  that  is  why  I  am  in  bed  to-day." 

I  saw  at  once  that  she  was  seriously  ill,  and  I  also  saw  that 
she  was  bearing  up  bravely,  and  making  as  little  of  it  as 
possible. 

"Why  isn't  your  fire  lit?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  I  never  thought  of  having  one,"  she  answered. 

"And  what  is  that  you  are  drinking?" 

44 Cold  water." 

"Well,  you  mustn't  drink  any  more  cold  water,  or  anything 
else  cold  until  I  give  you  leave,"  I  ordered.  "And  don't  try 
to  talk.  I  will  come  and  see  you  again  by  and  by." 

I  went  downstairs  to  look  for  Colonel  Colquhoun,  and  found 
him  just  about  to  start  for  barracks. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  your  wife  is  very  ill,"  I  said.  "She  has 
an  attack  of  acute  bronchitis,  and  it  may  mean  pneumonia  as 
well;  I  have  not  examined  her  chest.  She  must  have  fires  in 
her  room,  and  a  bronchitis  kettle  at  once.  Don't  let  the  tem 
perature  get  below  70°  till  I  see  her  again.  Her  maid  can 
manage  for  a  few  hours,  I  suppose?  But  you  had  better  tele 
graph  for  a  nurse.  One  should  be  here  before  night." 

"What  a  damned  nuisance  these  women  are,"  Colquhoun 
answered  cheerfully.  "There's  always  something  the  matter 
with  them !" 

I  returned  between  five  and  six  in  the  evening,  walked  in, 
and  not  seeing  anybody  about,  went  up  to  Evadne's  sitting 
room.  The  door  leading  into  the  bedroom  was  open,  and  I 
entered.  She  was  alone,  and  had  propped  herself  up  in  bed 
with  pillows.  The  difficulty  of  breathing  had  become 
greater,  and  she  found  relief  in  that  attitude.  She  looked  at 
me  with  eyes  unnaturally  large  and  solemn  as  I  entered,  and  it 
was  a  full  moment  before  she  recognised  me.  The  fires  had 
not  been  lighted  in  either  of  the  rooms,  and  she  was  evidently 
much  worse. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  579 

''Why  haven't  these  fires  been  lighted  ?"  I  demanded. 

"This  is  only  October,"  she  answered,  jesting,  "and  we 
don't  begin  fires  till  November." 

I  rang  the  bell  emphatically. 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself,  doctor,"  she  remonstrated  gentlv 
"What  does  it  matter?" 

I  went  out  into  the  sitting  room  to  meet  the  maid  as  she 
entered. 

"Why  haven't  these  fires  been  lighted?"  I  asked  again. 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  she  answered.  "I  received  no  orders 
about  them." 

"Where  is  Colonel  Colquhoun?" 

"He  went  out  after  breakfast,  sir,  and  has  not  come  back 
yet." 

"Has  the  nurse  arrived?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Well,  light  these  fires  at  once.*' 

"I  don't  light  fires,  sir,"  she  said,  drawing  herself  up.  "It 
isn't  my  work." 

"Whose  work  is  it?"  I  demanded. 

"Either  of  the  housemaids',  sir,  but  they're  both  out,"  she 
answered,  ogling  me  pertly. 

I  own  that  I  was  exasperated,  and  I  showed  it  in  such  a 
way  that  she  fled  precipitately.  I  followed  her  downstairs  to 
find  the  butler.  I  happened  to  know  the  man.  His  wife  had 
been  in  my  service,  and  I  had  attended  her  through  a  severe 
illness  since  her  marriage. 

"Do  you  know  if  there's  such  a  thing  as  a  sensible  woman 
in  this  establishment,  Williamson?"  I  demanded. 

"  Well,   sir,   the    cook's    sensible    when    she's    sober,"    he 
answered,  pinching  his  chin  dubiously. 

"Does  she  happen  to  be  sober  now?" 

He  glanced  at  the  clock.  "I'll  just  see,  sir,"  he  said. 

When  he  returned  he  announced,  with  perfect  gravity,  that 
she  was  "passable  sober,  but  busy  with  the  dinner." 

"Then  look  here,"  I  exclaimed,  out  of  all  patience,  "we 
must  do  it  ourselves." 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.     "Anything  I  can  do." 

When  I  explained  the  difficulty,  he  suggested  sending  for  his 
wife,  who  could  manage,  he  thought,  until  the  trained  nurse 
arrived,  and  help  her  afterward.  It  was  a  good  idea,  and  my 
man  was  despatched  to  bring  her  immediately. 

''They're  a  bad  lot  o'  servants,  the  women  in  this  'ouse  at 


580  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

present,"  Williamson  informed  me.  "The  missus  didn't 
choose  'em  'erself— and  he  shook  his  head  significantly. 
"But  she  knows  what's  what,  and  they're  going.  That's  why 
they're  takin'  advantage." 

I  returned  to  Evadne.  Her  eyes  were  closed  and  her  fore 
head  contracted.  Every  breath  of  cold  air  was  cutting  her 
lungs  like  a  knife,  but  she  looked  up  at  me  when  I  took  her 
hand,  and  smiled.  I  never  knew  anybody  so  patient  and 
uncomplaining.  She  was  lying  on  a  little  iron  bedstead,  hard 
and  narrow  as  a  camp  bed.  The  room  was  bare-looking,  the 
floor  being  polished  and  with  only  two  small  rugs,  one  at  the 
fireplace  and  one  beside  the  bed,  upon  it.  It  looked  like  a 
nun's  cell,  and  there  was  a  certain  suggestion  of  purity  in  the 
sweetness  and  order  of  it  quite  consistent  with  the  idea;  but  it 
was  a  north  room  and  very  cold.  Evadne  had  unconsciously 
clasped  my  hand,  and  dozed  off  for  a  few  minutes,  holding  it 
tight,  but  the  cough  re-aroused  her.  When  she  looked  at  me 
again  her  mind  was  wandering.  She  knew  me,  but  she  did 
not  know  what  she  was  saying. 

"I  am  so  thankful!"  she  exclaimed.  "The  peace  of  mind 
— the  peace  of  mind — I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  relief  it 
is!" 

Williamson  came  in  on  tiptoe  and  lit  the  fire,  and  Evadne 's 
maid  followed  him  in  and  stood  looking  on,  half  sheepishly 
and  half  in  defiance.  I  noticed  now  that  she  was  a  hard- 
faced,  bold-looking  girl,  not  at  all  the  sort  of  person  to  have 
about  my  delicate  little  lady,  and  when  Mrs.  Williamson 
arrived,  I  ordered  her  out  of  the  room,  and  never  allowed  her 
to  enter  it  again.  During  the  week  she  left  altogether,  and  I 
was  fortunately  able  to  procure  a  suitable  woman  to  wait  upon 
Mrs.  Colquhoun.  She  has  been  with  her  ever  since,  by 
the  way. 

I  felt  pretty  sure  by  this  time  that  no  nurse  had  been  sent 
for,  and  I  therefore  despatched  one  of  Colonel  Colquhoun's 
men  in  a  dogcart  to  Morningquest  to  telegraph  for  one.  But 
she  could  not  arrive  before  daylight  even  by  special  train,  and 
it  had  now  become  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  and  as  Mrs. 
Williamson  had  no  knowledge  of  nursing  to  help  her  good  will, 
I  determined  to  spend  the  night  beside  my  patient. 

When  Colonel  Colquhoun  came  in  and  found  me  making 
myself  at  home  in  his  house  he  expressed  himself  greatly 
pleased. 

"When  I  returned  this  afternoon  to  see  how  Mrs.  Colquhoun 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  ^ 

was  progressing,  I  found  that  none  of  my  orders  had  been  car 
ried  out,  and  now  she  is  dangerously  ill,"  I  said  severely. 

"Faith,"  he  replied,  changing  countenance,  "I'm  very 
sorry  to  hear  it,  and  I'm  afraid  I'm  to  blame,  for  I  was  in  the 
deuce  of  a  hurry  when  I  saw  you  this  morning,  and  never 
thought  of  a  word  you  said  from  that  moment  to  this.  Now 
I'm  genuinely  sorry,"  he  repeated.  "Is  there  nothing  I  can 
do?  Mrs.  Orton  Beg " 

"She's  gone  abroad  for  the  winter." 

"Ah,  to  be  sure!" 

"And  everybody  else  is  away  who  would  be  of  any  use,"  I 
added,  "and  I  therefore  propose,  if  you  have  no  objection,  to 
stay  here  to-night  myself." 

"You'd  oblige  me  greatly  by  doing  so,"  he  answered 
earnestly.  "I  don't  know  what  there  is  for  dinner,  but  I  shall 
enjoy  it  all  the  more  myself  for  the  pleasure  of  your  company." 

He  made  no  special  inquiries  about  his  wife's  condition,  and 
never  went  near  her;  but  as  he  was  in  a  tolerably  advanced 
state  of  intoxication  before  he  retired  for  the  night,  it  was 
quite  as  well,  perhaps. 

Mrs.  Williamson  had  probably  done  her  day's  work  before  I 
sent  for  her,  and,  with  all  the  will  in  the  world  to  wake  and 
watch,  she  fell  fast  asleep  before  midnight,  and  I  let  her  sleep. 
There  were  only  the  fires  to  be  attended  to — at  least  that  was 
all  that  I  could  have  trusted  her  to  do.  Watching  the  case 
generally,  and  seizing  opportune  moments  to  administer  reme 
dies  would  not  have  been  in  her  line  at  all. 

Evadne  knew  me  always,  but  she  lost  all  count  of  time. 

"You  seem  to  come  every  day  now,  doctor,"  she  said  once 
during  the  night,  "and  I  am  glad  to  see  you!" 

For  two  hours  toward  dawn,  when  the  temperature  is  sen 
sibly  lower,  I  gave  my  little  lady  up;  but  she  was  better  by 
the  time  the  trained  nurse  arrived,  and  eventually  she  pulled 
through — greatly  owing,  I  am  sure,  to  her  own  perfect  patience. 
She  was  always  the  same  all  through  her  illness,  gentle, 
uncomplaining,  grateful  for  every  trifle  that  was  done  for  her, 
and  tranquillity  herself.  My  impression  was  that  she  enjoyed 
being  ill.  I  never  saw  a  symptom  of  depression  the  whole 
time;  but  when  she  had  quite  recovered,  and  although,  as 
often  happens  after  a  severe  illness,  when  so-called  "trifles" 
are  discovered  and  checked  which  would  otherwise  have  been 
allowed  to  run  on  until  they  grew  serious — although  for  this 
reason  she  was  certainly  stronger  than  she  had  ever  been  since 


5«2  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS, 

I  became  acquainted  with  her,  no  sooner  did  she  resume  her 
accustomed  habits  than  that  old  unsatisfactory  something  in 
her,  which  it  was  so  easy  to  perceive  but  so  difficult  to  define, 
returned  in  full  force. 

I  had  ceased  to  be  critical,  however.  Colonel  Colquhoun's 
careless  neglect  of  her  had  continued  throughout  her  illness, 
and  I  thought  I  understood. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

1HAD  necessarily  seen  much  of  Evadne  during  her  illness, 
and  the  intimacy  never  again  lapsed. 

Jealousy  was  not  one  of  Colonel  Colquhoun's  vices.  He 
always  encouraged  any  man  to  come  to  the  house  for  whom 
she  showed  the  slightest  preference,  and  I  have  heard  him 
complain  of  her  indifference  to  admiration. 

"  She'll  dress  herself  up  carefully  in  the  evening  to  sit  at 
home  alone  with  me,  and  go  out  to  a  big  dinner  party  in  the 
dowdiest  gown  she's  got,"  he  told  me  once.  "  She  doesn't 
care  a  hang  whether  she's  admired  or  not — rather  objects,  if 
anything,  perhaps." 

Colonel  Colquhoun  rubbed  his  hands  here  with  a  certain 
enjoyment  of  such  perversity.  But  I  could  see  that  Evadne 
did  not  relish  the  subject.  It  was  one  afternoon  at  As-You- 
Like-It.  I  was  tired  after  a  long  day  and  had  dropped  in  to 
ask  for  some  tea.  Colonel  Colquhoun  came  up  to  entertain 
me,  and  Evadne  went  on  with  her  work  while  we  chatted 
familiarly. 

"You  were  never  so  civil  to  any  of  your  admirers,  Evadne, 
as  you  were  to  that  great  boy  in  the  regiment,"  Colonel  Col 
quhoun  continued,  quite  blind  to  her  obvious  and  natural 
though  silent  objection  to  being  made  the  subject  of  conver 
sation — "  a  young  subaltern  of  ours,"  he  explained  to  me,  "  a 
big  broad-shouldered  lad,  six  feet  high,  who  just  worshipped 
Evadne  !  " 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  said  Evadne,  sighing.  "  He  was  cruelly 
butchered  in  a  horribly  fruitless  skirmish  with  his  fellow- 
creatures  during  that  last  small  war.  I  was  glad  I  was  able  to 
be  kind  to  him.  He  was  always  very  nice  to  me." 

"  Well,  there's  a  reason  for  everything  ! "  Colonel  Col 
quhoun  observed  gallantly. 

"  Don't  you  like  boys  ? "  Evadne  asked,  looking  up  at  me. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  583 

"  The  ones  we  have  here  at  the  depot,  when  they  first  come, 
fresh  from  the  public  schools,  are  delightful,  with  their  high 
spirits,  and  their  love  affairs  ;  their  pranks,  and  the  something 
beyond  which  will  make  men  of  them  eventually.  I  can  never 
see  enough  of  our  boys.  But  Colonel  Colquhoun  very  kindly 
lets  me  have  as  many  of  them  here  as  I  like." 

"  Faith,  I  can't  keep  them  out,  for  they're  all  in  love  with 
you,"  said  Colonel  Colquhoun. 

"  And  I  am  in  love  with  them  all  !  "  she  answered  brightly, 
leaning  back  in  her  chair,  and  holding  up  her  work  to  look  at 
it.  As  she  did  so,  the  lower  half  of  her  face  was  concealed 
from  me,  and  her  eyes  were  cast  down.  I  only  glanced  at  her, 
but,  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  I  suddenly  became  aware,  by  one  of 
those  curious  flashes  of  imperfect  recollection  which  come  to 
us  all  at  times  to  torment  us,  that  I  had  seen  her  somewhere, 
before  I  knew  who  she  was,  in  that  attitude  exactly  ;  but  where, 
or  under  what  circumstance,  I  failed  to  recollect.  The  impres 
sion,  however,  was  indelible,  and  haunted  me  ever  afterward. 

"Now, there's  Diavolo," Colonel  Colquhoun  continued — the 
exchange  I  had  suggested  had  been  effected  by  this  time,  and 
Diavolo  was  quartered  at  the  depot — not  exactly  to  Colonel 
Colquhoun's  delight,  perhaps,  but  he  was  very  good  about  it. 
*'  Now,  there's  Diavolo.  He  tells  me  to  my  face  that  he  was 
the  first  to  propose  to  Mrs.  Colquhoun,  and  always  meant  to 
marry  her,  and  means  it  still.  He  said  to  me  coaxingly,  only 
last  Friday,  when  I  was  coming  out  of  barracks  :  '  Take  me 
home  with  you  to-day,  sir.'  And  I  answered,  pretending  to 
be  severe,  but  pulling  his  sleeve,  you  know  :  '  Indeed  I  won't. 
You'll  be  making  love  to  Mrs.  Colquhoun.'  And  he  got  very 
red,  and  said  quite  huffily  :  «  Well,  I  think  you  might  let  a 
fellow  look  at  her.'  And  of  course  I  had  to  bring  him  back 
with  me,  and  he  sat  down  on  the  floor  at  her  feet  there,  and 
got  on  with  the  most  ridiculous  nonsense.  You  couldn't  help 
laughing !  '  I  should  like  to  kill  you,  and  carry  her  off,'  he 
said,  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  meant  it.  And  no  more  harm 
in  the  boy,  either,  than  there  is  in  Evadne  herself,"  Colonel 
Colquhoun  added  good-humouredly. 

This  is  a  specimen  of  the  man  at  his  best.  Latterly  1 
seldom  seen  him  in  such  a  genial  mood  at  home— abroad  he 
brightened  up.  But  in  his  own  house  now — for  a  process  of 
deterioration  had  been  going  on  ever  since  his  arrival  in 
Morningquest— his  mind  was  apt  to  resemble  a  dark  cave 
which  is  transformed  diurnally  by  a  single  shaft  of  sunshine 


584  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

which  streams  in  for  a  brief  space  at  a  certain  hour.  The 
happy  moment  with  him  occurred  about  the  time  of  the  tenth 
brandy-and-soda,  as  nearly  as  I  could  calculate,  and  it  lasted 
till  the  eleventh,  when  he  usually  relapsed  into  gloom  again, 
and  became  overcast  until  the  next  recurrence  of  the  phe 
nomena.  But  whatever  his  mood  was,  Evadne  humoured 
it.  She  responded  always— or  tried  to — when  he  was  genial; 
and  when  he  was  morose,  she  was  dumb.  I  thought  her  a 
model  wife. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

AFTER  her  illness  Evadne  spent  much  of  her  time  in  the 
west  window  of  the  drawing  room  at  As-You-Like-It 
with  her  little  work-table  beside  her,  embroidering.  I  never 
saw  her  reading,  and  there  were  no  books  about  the  room;  but 
the  work  she  did  was  beautiful.  She  used  to  have  a  stand 
before  her  with  flowers  arranged  upon  it,  and  copy  them  on  to 
some  material  in  coloured  silks  direct  from  nature.  She  could 
not  draw  either  with  pen  or  pencil,  or  paint  with  a  brush,  but 
she  could  copy  with  her  needle  quite  accurately,  and  would  do 
a  spray  of  lilies  to  the  life,  or  in  the  most  approved  con 
ventional  manner,  if  it  pleased  her.  Her  not  being  able  to 
draw  struck  me  as  a  curious  limitation,  and  I  asked  her  once 
if  she  could  account  for  it  in  any  way. 

"  I  believe  I  am  an  example  of  how  much  we  owe  to  early 
influences,"  she  answered,  laughing;  "and  probably  I  have 
the  talent  both  for  drawing  and  painting  in  me,  but  it  remains 
latent  for  want  of  cultivation.  My  mother  drew  and  painted 
beautifully  as  a  girl,  but  she  had  given  both  up  before  I  was 
old  enough  to  imitate  her,  and  only  copied  flowers  as  I  do 
with  her  needle,  and  I  used  to  watch  her  at  her  work  until  I 
felt  impelled  to  do  the  same.  If  she  had  gone  on  with  her 
drawing  I  am  sure  I  should  have  drawn  too;  but  as  it  was,  I 
never  thought  of  trying." 

"Moral  for  mothers,"  I  observed:  "Keep  up  your  own 
accomplishments  if  you  would  have  your  daughters  shine." 

Evadne  was  not  enough  in  the  fresh  air  at  this  time,  and  she 
was  too  much  alone.  I  ventured  once,  in  my  professional 
capacity,  to  say  that  she  should  have  friends  to  stay  with  her 
occasionally,  but  she  passed  the  suggestion  off  without  either 
accepting  or  declining  it,  and  then  I  spoke  to  Colonel  Colqu- 
houn.  He,  however,  pooh-poohed  the  idea  altogether. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  585 

"  She's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  You  don't  know  her.  She 
always  lives  like  that ;  it's  her  way." 

I  also  counselled  regular  exercise,  and  to  that  she  replied  : 
"  I  do  go  out.  Why,  you  passed  me  yourself  on  the  road  only 
the  other  day." 

I  certainly  had  seen  her  more  than  once,  alone,  miles  away 
from  home,  walking  at  the  top  of  her  speed,  as  if  impelled  by 
some  strong  emotion  or  inexorable  necessity,  and  I  did  not 
like  the  sign.  "  One  or  two  hours'  walk  regularly  every  day 
is  what  you  should  take,"  I  told  her.  "  The  virtue  of  it  is  in 
the  regularity.  If  you  make  a  habit  of  taking  a  short  walk 
daily  you  will  have  got  more  sunshine  and  fresh  air,  which  is 
what  you  specially  require,  in  one  year  than  you  will  in  two  if 
you  continue  to  go  out  in  a  jerky,  irregular  way.  And  you 
must  give  up  covering  impossible  distances  in  feverish  haste, 
as  you  do  now.  Walk  gently,  and  make  yourself  feel  that 
you  have  full  leisure  to  walk  as  long  as  you  like.  You  will 
find  the  effect  tranquillizing.  It  is  a  common  mistake  to 
make  a  business  of  taking  exercise.  I  am  constantly  lecturing 
my  patients  about  it.  If  you  want  exercise  to  raise  your  spirits, 
brace  your  nerves,  and  do  you  good  generally,  it  must  be  all 
pure  pleasure  without  conscious  exertion.  Pleasurable  mo 
ments  prolong  life." 

"Thank  you,"  Evadne  answered  gently.  "I  know,  of 
course,  that  you  are  right,  and  I  will  do  my  best  to  profit  by 
your  advice,  if  it  be  only  to  show  you  how  much  I  appreciate 
your  kindness.  But  I  must  have  a  scamper  occasionally,  a 
regular  burst,  you  know.  Please  don't  stop  that  !  The 
indulgence,  when  I  am  in  the  mood,  is  my  pet  vice  at  present." 

The  great  drawing  room  at  As-You-Like-It,  which  I  had 
mentioned  in  my  letter  to  Lady  Adeline  as  containing  the  one 
bright  spot  in  that  gloomy  abode,  was  an  addition  tacked  on 
to  the  end  of  the  house,  and  evidently*an  afterthought.  It 
was  entered  by  a  flight  of  shallow  steps  from  the  hall,  and  was 
above  the  level  of  the  public  road,  which  ran  close  past  that 
end  of  the  house,  the  grounds  and  approach  being  on  the  other 
side.  It  was  lighted  by  three  high  narrow  windows  looking 
toward  the  north,  and  three  more  close  together  looking  west, 
and  forming  a  bay  so  deep  as  to  be  quite  a  small  room  in  itself. 
It  almost  overhung  the  high-road,  only  a  tall  holly-hedge  being 
between  them,  but  so  near  that  the  topmost  twigs  of  the  holly 
grew  up  to  the  window-sill.  It  was  a  quiet  road,  however,  too 
far  from  the  town  for  much  traffic,  and  Evadne  could  sit  there 


586  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

with  the  windows  open  undisturbed,  and  enjoy  the  long  level 
prospect  of  fertile  land,  field  and  fallow,  wood  and  water,  that 
lay  before  her.  She  sat  in  the  centre  window,  and  I  think  it 
was  from  thence  that  she  learnt  to  appreciate  the  charms  of  a 
level  landscape  as  you  look  down  upon  it,  about  which  I  heard 
her  discourse  so  eloquently  in  after  days.  It  was  her  chosen 
corner,  and  there  she  sat  silent  many  and  many  an  hour,  with 
busy  fingers  and  thoughts  we  could  not  follow,  communing  at 
times  with  nature,  I  doubt  not,  or  with  her  own  heart,  and 
thankful  to  be  still. 

The  road  beneath  her  was  one  I  had  to  traverse  regularly, 
and  it  became  a  habit  to  look  up  as  I  drove  past.  If  she  were 
in  her  accustomed  seat  she  usually  raised  her  eyes  from  her 
work  for  a  moment  to  smile  me  a  greeting.  Once  she  was 
standing  up,  leaning  languidly  against  the  window  frame, 
twirling  a  rose  in  her  fingers,  but  she  straightened  herself  into 
momentary  energy  when  she  recognized  me,  and  threw  the  rose 
at  me  with  accurate  aim.  It  was  the  youngest  and  most  famil 
iar  thing  I  had  known  her  do — an  impulse  of  pure  mischief,  I 
thought,  for  the  rose  was  La  France,  and  the  sentiment,  as  I 
translated  it,  was  :  "  You  will  value  it  more  than  I  do  !  "  For 
she  hated  the  French. 

There  often  occurs  and  recurs  to  the  mind  incessantly  a 
verse  or  an  apt  quotation  in  connection  with  some  act  or  event, 
a  haunting  definition  of  the  impression  it  makes  upon  us,  and 
Evadne  in  the  wide  west  window,  bending  busily  over  her 
work,  set  my  mind  on  one  occasion  to  a  borrowed  measure  of 
words  which  never  failed  me  from  that  time  forward  when  I 
saw  her  so  engaged  : 

There  she  weaves  by  night  and  day 
A  magic  web  of  colour  gay. 
She  has  Jieard  a  whisper  say, 
A  curse  'is  on  her  if  she  stay 

To  look  down  to  Camelot. 
She  knows  not  what  the  curse  may  be, 
And  so  she  weaveth  steadily, 
And  little  other  care  hath  she, 

The  lady  of  Shalott. 

But  where  was  Camelot?  Fountain  Towers,  just  appearing 
above  the  tree-tops  to  the  north,  was  the  only  human  habita 
tion  in  sight.  I  had  a  powerful  telescope  on  the  highest 
tower,  and  one  day,  in  an  idle  mood,  I  happened  to  be  looking 
through  it  with  no  definite  purpose,  just  sweeping  it  slowly 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  587 

from  point  to  point  of  the  landscape,  when  all  at  once  Evadne 
came  into  the  field  of  vision  with  such  startling  distinctness 
that  I  stepped  back  from  the  glass.  She  was  sitting  in  her 
accustomed  place,  with  her  work  on  her  lap,  her  hands  clasped 
before  her,  leaning  forward  looking  up  in  my  direction  with 
an  expression  in  her  whole  attitude  that  appealed  to  me  like  a 
cry  for  help.  The  impression  was  so  strong  that  I  ordered 
my  dogcart  out  and  drove  over  to  As-You-Like-It  at  once. 
But  I  found  her  perfectly  tranquil  when  I  arrived,  with  no 
trace  of  recent  emotion  either  in  her  manner  or  appearance. 

When  I  went  home  I  had  the  telescope  removed.     I  had 
forgotten  that  we  overlooked  that  corner  of  As-You-Like-It. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  idea  that  Evadne  was  naturally  unsociable  was  pretty 
general,  and  Colonel  Colquhoun  believed  it  as  much  as 
anybody.  I  remember  being  at  As-You-Like-It  one  after 
noon  when  he  rallied  her  on  the  subject.  He  had  stopped 
me  as  I  was  driving  past  to  ask  me  to  look  at  a  horse  he  was 
thinking  of  buying.  The  animal  was  being  trotted  up  and 
down  the  approach  by  a  groom  for  our  inspection  when 
Evadne  returned  from  somewhere,  driving  herself. 

She  pulled  up  beside  us  and  got  out. 

"I  never  see  you  driving  any  of  your  friends  about," 
Colonel  Colquhoun  remarked.  "You're  very  unsociable, 
Evadne." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  see,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  I  like  to  be 
alone  and  think  when  I  am  driving.  It  worries  me  to  have  to 
talk  to  people — as  a  rule." 

"Well,"  he  said,  glancing  at  the  reeking  pony,  "if  your 
thoughts  went  as  fast  as  Blue  Mick  seems  to  have  done 
to-day,  you  must  have  got  through  a  good  deal  of  thinking  in 
the  time." 

Evadne  looked  at  the  pony.  "  Take  him  round,"  she  said 
to  the  groom  ;  and  then  she  remarked  that  it  must  be  tea- 
time,  and  asked  us  both  to  go  in,  and  have  some. 

The  air  had  brought  a  delicate  tinge  of  colour  to  her  usually 
pale  cheeks,  and  she  looked  bright  and  bonny  as  she  sat  beside 
the  tea-table,  taking  off  her  gloves  and  chatting,  with  her  hat 
pushed  slightly  up  from  her  forehead.  It  was  an  expansive 


588  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

moment  with  her,  one  of  the  rare  ones  when  she  unconsciously 
revealed  something  of  herself  in  her  conversation. 

There  were  some  flowers  on  the  tea-table  which  I  admired. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  in  their  beauty  ; 
"  I  derive  all  my  pleasure  in  life  from  things  inanimate.  An 
arrangement  of  deep-toned  marigolds  with  brown  centres  in  a 
glass  like  these,  all  aglow  beneath  the  maiden-hair,  gives  me 
more  pleasure  than  anything  else  I  can  think  of  at  this 
moment." 

"  Not  more  pleasure  than  your  friends  do,"  I  ventured. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  In  the  matter  of  love  surgit 
amari  aliquid.  Friends  disappoint  us.  But  in  the  contempla 
tion  of  flowers  all  our  finer  feelings  are  stimulated  and 
blended,  and  yet  there  is  no  excess  of  feeling  to  end  in  regrets, 
or  a  painful  reaction.  When  the  flowers  fade,  we  cheerfully 
gather  fresh  ones.  But  I  hope  I  do  not  undervalue  my 
friends,"  she  broke  off.  "I  only  mean  to  say — when  you 
think  of  all  the  uncertainties  of  life,  of  sickness  and  death, 
and  other  things  more  dreadful,  which  overtake  our  dearest, 
do  what  we  will  to  protect  them  ;  and  then  that  worst  thing 
whether  it  be  in  ourselves  or  others  :  I  mean  change — when 
you  think  of  it  all,  surely  it  is  well  to  turn  to  some  delicate 
source  of  delight,  like  this,  for  relief — and  to  forget,"  and  she 
curved  her  slender  hand  round  the  flowers  caressingly,  look 
ing  up  at  me  at  the  same  time  as  if  she  were  pleading  to  be 
allowed  to  have  her  own  way. 

I  did  not  remonstrate  with  her.  I  hardly  knew  the  danger 
then  myself  of  refusing  to  suffer. 

It  was  some  weeks  before  I  saw  her  again  after  that.  I 
had  been  busy.  But  one  day,  as  I  was  driving  into  Morning- 
quest,  I  overtook  her  on  the  road,  walking  in  the  same 
direction.  I  was  in  a  close  carriage,  but  I  pulled  the  check- 
string  as  soon  as  I  recognized  her,  and  got  out.  She  turned 
when  she  heard  the  carriage  stop,  and  seeing  me  alight  came 
forward  and  shook  hands.  She  looked  wan  and  weary. 

"  Those  are  fine  horses  of  yours,"  was  her  smileless  greet 
ing.  "How  are  you?" 

4<  Have  you  been  having  a  '  burst'  ?  "  I  said— she  was  quite 
five  miles  from  home.  She  looked  up  and  down  the  road  for 
answer,  and  affected  to  laugh,  but  I  could  see  that  she  was 
not  at  all  in  a  laughing  mood,  and  also  that  she  was  already 
over-fatigued.  I  thought  of  begging  to  be  allowed  to  drive 
her  back,  but  then  it  occurred  to  me  that,  even  if  she  con- 


THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  TWINS.  589 

sented,  which  was  not  likely,  as  she  had  a  perfect  horror  of 
giving  trouble,  and  would  never  have  been  persuaded  that  I 
was  not  going  out  of  my  way  at  the  greatest  personal  incon 
venience  merely  to  pay  her  a  polite  attention  ;  but  even  if  she 
had  consented,  she  would  probably  have  had  to  spend  the  rest 
of  the  day  alone  in  that  great  west  window,  with  nothing  to 
take  her  out  of  herself,  and  nothing  more  enlivening  to  look 
at  than  dreary  winter  fields  under  a  sombre  sky,  and  that 
would  not  do  at  all.  A  better  idea,  however,  occurred  to  me. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,"  I  said.  "  She  is  not 
very  well. 

Evadne  had  been  staring  blandly  at  the  level  landscape,  but 
she  turned  to  me  when  I  spoke,  and  some  interest  came  into 
her  eyes. 

"  Have  you  seen  her  lately,"  I  continued. 

"  N-no,"  she  answered,  as  if  she  were  considering  ;  "  not  for 
some  time. 

"  Come  now,"  I  boldly  suggested.  "  It  will  do  her  good.  I 
won't  talk  if  you  want  to  think,"  I  added. 

Her  face  melted  into  a  smile  at  this,  and  on  seeing  her 
stiffness  relax,  I  wasted  no  more  time  in  persuasion,  but 
returned  to  the  carriage  and  held  the  door  open  for  her.  She 
followed  me  slowly,  although  she  looked  as  if  she  had  not 
quite  made  up  her  mind,  and  got  in  ;  but  still  as  if  she  were 
hesitating.  Once  she  was  seated,  however,  I  could  see  that 
she  was  not  sorry  she  had  yielded  ;  and  presently  she  acknowl 
edged  as  much  herself. 

"  I  believe  I  was  tired,"  she  said. 

"  Rest  now,  then,"  I  answered,  taking  a  paper  out  of  my 
pocket.  She  settled  herself  more  luxuriously  in  her  corner, 
put  her  arm  in  the  strap,  and  looked  out  through  the  open 
window.  The  day  was  mild  though  murky,  the  sky  was  leaden 
gray.  We  rolled  through  the  wintry  landscape  rapidly- 
brown  hedgerows,  leafless  trees,  ploughed  fields,  a  crow,  two 
crows,  a  whole  flock  home-returning  from  their  feeding 
ground  ;  scattered  cottages,  a  woman  at  a  door  looking 
out  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  three  boys  swinging  on  a  gate, 
a  man  trudging  along  with  a  bundle,  a  labourer  trimming  a 
bank  ;  mist  rising  in  the  low-lying  meadows ;  grazing  cattle, 
nibbling  sheep  ; — but  she  did  not  see  these  things  at  first, 
any  of  them  ;  she  was  thinking.  Then  she  began  to  see,  and 
forgot  to  think.  Then  her  fatigue  wore  off,  and  a  sense  of 
relief,  of  ease,  and  of  well-being  generally,  took  gradual 


590  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

possession  of  her.  I  could  see  the  change  come  into  her 
countenance,  and  before  we  had  arrived  in  Morningquest,  she 
had  begun  to  talk  to  me  cheerfully  of  her  own  accord.  We 
had  to  skirt  the  old  gray  walls  which  surrounded  the  palace 
gardens,  and  as  we  did  so,  she  looked  up  at  them — indiffer 
ently  at  first,  but  immediately  afterward  with  a  sudden  flash 
of  recognition.  She  said  nothing,  but  I  could  see  she  drew 
herself  together  as  if  she  had  been  hurt. 

"  Do  you  go  there  often  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

«  NO — Edith  died  there  ;  and  then  that  child,"  she  answered, 
looking  at  me  as  if  she  were  surprised  that  I  should  have 
thought  it  likely. 

"  She  shrinks  from  sorrowful  associations  and  painful 
sights,"  I  thought.  But  I  did  not  know,  when  I  asked  the 
question,  that  our  poor  Edith  had  been  a  particular  friend  of 
hers. 

We  stopped  the  next  moment  at  Mrs.  Orton  Beg's,  and  she 
leant  forward  to  look  at  the  windows,  smiling  and  brightening 
again. 

I  helped  her  out  and  followed  her  to  the  door,  which  she 
opened  as  if  she  were  at  home  there.  She  waited  for  me  for 
a  moment  in  the  hall  till  I  put  my  hat  down,  and  then  we  went 
to  the  drawing  room  together,  and  walked  in  in  the  same  fami 
liar  way. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  there  with  another  lady,  a  stout  but 
very  comely  person,  handsomely  dressed,  who  seemed  to  have 
just  risen  to  take  her  leave. 

The  moment  Evadne  saw  this  lady  she  sprang  forward. 
"  Oh,  Mother  /"  she  cried,  throwing  her  arms  round  her  neck. 

"  Evadne— my  dear,  dear  child  !"  the  lady  exclaimed,  clasp 
ing  her  close  and  kissing  her,  and  then,  holding  her  off  to 
look  at  her.  "  Why,  my  child,  how  thin  you  are,  and  pale,  and 
weak " 

"Oh,  mother — I  am  so  glad!  I  am  so  glad!"  Evadne 
cried  again,  nestling  close  up  to  her,  and  kissing  her  neck  ; 
and  then  she  laid  her  head  on  her  bosom  and  burst  into  hys 
terical  sobs. 

I  instantly  left  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  followed  me. 

"  They  have  not  met  since — just  after  Evadne's  marriage," 
she  explained  to  me.  "  Evadne  offended  her  father,  and  there 
still  seems  to  be  no  hope  of  a  reconciliation." 

"  But  surely  it  is  cruel  to  separate  mother  and  child,"  \ 
exclaimed  indignantly.  "  He  has  no  right  to  do  that," 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  591 

"  No,  and  he  would  not  be  able  to  do  it  with  one  of  us,"  she 
answered  bitterly;  "  but  my  sister  is  of  a  yielding  disposition. 
She  is  like  Mrs.  Beale,  one  of  the  old-fashioned  '  womanly 
women,'  who  thought  it  their  duty  to  submit  to  everything, 
and  make  the  best  of  everything,  including  injustice,  and  any 
other  vice  it  pleased  their  lords  to  practise.  But  for  this 
weakness  of  good  women  the  world  would  be  a  brighter  and 
better  place  by  this  time.  We  see  the  disastrous  folly  of  sub 
mitting  our  reason  to  the  rule  of  self-indulgence  and  self- 
interest  now,  however  ;  and,  please  God,  we  shall  change  all 
that  before  I  die.  He  will  be  a  bold  man  soon  who  will  dare 
to  have  the  impertinence  to  dictate  to  us  as  to  what  we  should 
or  should  not  do,  or  think,  or  say.  No  one  can  pretend  that 
the  old  system  of  husband  and  master  has  answered  well,  and 
it  has  had  a  fair  trial.  Let  us  hope  that  the  new  method  of 
partnership  will  be  more  successful." 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  I  answered  earnestly. 

Mrs.  Orton  Beg  looked  up  in  my  face,  and  her  own  counte 
nance  cleared. 

"  You  and  Evadne  seem  to  be  very  good  friends,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  so  glad."  Then  she  looked  up  at  me  again,  with  a 
curious  little  smile  which  I  could  not  interpret.  "  Does  she 
remind  you  of  anybody — of  anything,  ever  ?  "  she  asked. 

«  why — surely  she  is  like  you,"  I  said,  seeing  a  likeness  for 
the  first  time. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  more  indifferent  tone.  "  There  is 
a  likeness,  I  am  told." 

I  tried  afterward  to  think  that  this  explained  the  haunting 
half  recollection  I  seemed  to  have  of  something  about  Evadne; 
but  it  did  not.  On  the  contrary,  it  re-awakened  and  con 
firmed  the  feeling  that  I  had  seen  Evadne  before  I  knew  who 
she  was,  under  circumstances  which  I  now  failed  to  recall. 

Thinking  she  would  like  to  be  alone  after  that  interview 
with  her  mother,  I  left  the  carriage  for  her,  and  walked  back 
to  Fountain  Towers  ;  and  the  state  I  was  in  after  doing  the 
ten  miles  warned  me  that  I  had  been  luxuriating  too  much  in 
carriages  lately,  and  must  begin  to  practise  what  I  preached 
again  in  the  way  of  exercise,  if  I  did  not  wish  to  lay  up  a  fat 
and  flabby  old  age  for  myself. 

I  made  a  point  of  not  seeing  Evadne  for  some  little  time 
after  that  event,  so  that  she  might  not  feel  bound  to  refer  to 
it  in  case  she  should  shrink  from  doing  so.  But  the  next  time 
we  met,  as  it  happened,  I  had  another  glimpse  of  her  feeling 


592  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

for  her  friends,  which  showed  me  how  very  much  mistaken  I 
had  been  in  my  estimate  of  the  depth  of  her  affections.  It  was 
at  As-You-Like-It.  I  had  walked  over  from  Fountain  Towers, 
and  dropped  in  casually  to  ask  for  some  tea,  and,  Colonel  Col- 
quhoun  arriving  at  the  same  moment  from  barracks,  we  went 
up  to  the  drawing  room  together,  and  found  Evadne  in  her 
accustomed  place,  busy  with  her  embroidery  as  usual.  She 
shook  hands,  but  said  nothing  to  show  that  she  was  aware  of 
the  interval  there  had  been  since  she  saw  me  last.  When  she 
sat  down  again,  however,  she  went  on  with  her  work,  and  there 
was  a  certain  satisfied  look  in  her  face,  as  if  some  little  wish 
had  been  gratified  and  she  was  content.  I  knew  when  she 
took  up  her  work  that  she  liked  me  to  be  there,  and  wanted 
me  to  stay,  for  she  always  put  it  down  when  visitors  she  did 
not  care  for  called,  and  made  a  business  of  entertaining  them. 
But  we  had  scarcely  settled  ourselves  to  talk  when  the  butler 
opened  the  door,  and  announced  "  Mr.  Bertram  Frayling,"  and 
a  tall,  slender,  remarkably  handsome  young  fellow,  with  a 
strong  family  likeness  to  Evadne  herself,  entered  with  boyish 
diffidence,  smiling  nervously,  but  looking  important,  too. 
Evadne  jumped  up  impetuously. 

"Bertram!"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out  her  arms  to  him. 
«'  Why,  what  a  big  fellow  you  have  grown  !  "  she  cried,  find 
ing  she  could  hardly  reach  to  his  neck  to  hug  him.  "And  how 
handsome  you  are  !  " 

u  They  say  I  am  just  like  you,"  he  answered,  looking  down 
at  her  lovingly,  with  his  arm  around  her  waist.  Neither  of  them 
took  any  notice  of  us. 

"  This  is  your  birthday,  dear,"  Evadne  said.  "  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you  the  whole  day  long.  I  always  keep  all  the 
birthdays.  Did  you  remember  mine  ?" 

"  I— don't  think  I  did,"  he  answered  honestly.  "  But  this 
is  my  twenty-first  birthday,  Evadne,  and  that  s  how  it  is  I 
am  here.  I  am  my  own  master  from  to-day." 

"  And  the  first  thing  you  do  with  your  liberty  is  to  come  and 
see  your  sister,"  said  Colonel  Colquhoun.  "  You're  made  of 
Ihe  right  stuff,  my  boy,"  and  he  shook  hands  with  him  heartily. 

Evadne  clung  with  one  hand  to  his  shoulder,  and  pressed 
her  handkerchief  first  to  this  eye  and  then  to  that  alternately 
with  the  other,  looking  so  glad,  however,  at  the  same  time, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  say  whether  she  was  going  to  laugh 
or  cry  for  joy. 

"  But  aren't  there  rejoicings?"  she  asked. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  593 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  he  answered.  "  But  I  told  my  father  if  you 
were  not  asked  I  should  not  stay  for  them.  I  was  determined 
to  see  you  to-day."  He  flushed  boyishly  as  he  spoke,  and 
smiled  round  upon  us  all  again. 

"  But  wasn't  he  very  angry  ?  "  Evadne  said. 

"  Yes,"  her  brother  answered,  twinkling.  "  The  girls  got 
round  him,  and  tried  to  persuade  him,  but  they  only  made 
him  worse,  especially  when  they  all  declared  that  when  they 
came  of  age  they  meant  to  do  something,  too  !  He  said  that 
he  was  afflicted  with  the  most  obstinate,  ill-conditioned  family 
in  the  county,  and  began  to  row  mother  as  if  it  were  her  fault. 
But  I  wouldn't  stand  that !  " 

"  You  were  right,  Bertram,"  Evadne  exclaimed,  clenching 
her  hands.  "  Now  that  you  are  a  man,  never  let  mother  be 
made  miserable.  Did  she  know  you  were  coming  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  was  very  glad,"  he  answered,  "  and  sent  you 
messages." 

But  here  Colonel  Colquhoun  and  I  managed  to  slip  from  the 
room.  Evadne  sent  her  brother  back  that  day  to  grace  the 
close  of  the  festivities  in  his  honour,  but  he  returned  the  fol 
lowing  week,  and  stayed  at  As-You-Like-It,  and  also  with  me, 
when  he  confirmed  my  first  exceedingly  good  impression  of 
him.  Evadne  quite  wakened  up  under  his  influence,  but, 
unfortunately  for  her,  he  went  abroad  in  a  few  weeks  for 
a  two  years'  trip  round  the  world,  and,  I  think,  losing  him 
again  so  soon  made  it  almost  worse  for  her  than  if  they  had 
never  been  reunited,  especially  as  another  and  irreparable  loss 
came  upon  her  immediately  after  his  departure.  This  was  the 
sudden  death  of  her  mother,  the  news  of  which  arrived  one 
day  in  a  curt  note  written  by  her  father  to  Colonel  Colquhoun, 
no  previous  intimation  of  illness  having  been  sent  to  break  the 
shock  of  the  announcement.  I  can  never  be  thankful  enough 
for  the  happy  chance  which  brought  about  that  last  accidental 
meeting  of  Evadne  with  her  mother.  But  for  that,  they 
would  not  have  seen  each  other  again;  and  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  learning  eventually  that  the  perfect  understanding  which 
they  arrived  at  during  the  few  hours  they  spent  together  on 
that  occasion,  afterward  became  one  of  the  most  comforting 
recollections  of  Evadne's  life — "  A  hallowed  memory,"  as  she 
herself  expressed  it,  "  such  as  it  is  very  good  for  us  to  cherish. 
Thank  Heaven  for  the  opportunity  which  renewed  and  intensi 
fied  my  appreciation  of  my  mother's  love  and  goodness,  so  as 
to  make  my  last  impression  of  her  one  which  must  stand  out 


594  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

distinctly  forever  from  the  rest,  and  be  always  a  joyful  sorrow 
to  recall.  Do  you  know  what  ajoyful  sorrow  is  ?  Ah  !  some 
thing  that  makes  one  feel  warm  and  forgiving  in  the  midst  of 
one's  regrets,  a  delicious  feeling  ;  when  it  takes  possession  of 
you,  you  cease  to  be  hard  and  cold  and  fierce,  and  want  to  do 
good." 

Mrs.  Frayling  died  of  a  disease  for  which  we  have  a  remedy 
nowadays — or,  to  speak  plainly,  she  died  for  want  of  proper 
treatment.  Her  husband  gloried  in  what  he  called  "  a  rooted 
objection  to  new-fangled  notions,"  and  would  not  send  for  a 
modern  practitioner  even  when  the  case  became  serious,  pre 
ferring  to  confide  it  entirely  to  a  very  worthy  old  gentleman  of 
his  own  way  of  thinking,  with  one  qualification,  who  had  at 
tended  his  household  successfully  for  twenty-four  years,  during 
which  time  only  one  other  member  of  his  family  had  ever  been 
seriously  ill,  and  he  also  had  died.  But  I  hope  and  believe 
that  my  poor  little  lady  never  knew  the  truth  about  her 
mother's  last  illness.  She  was  overwhelmed  with  grief  as  it 
was,  and  it  cut  one  to  the  quick  to  see  her,  day  after  day,  in 
her  black  dress,  sitting  alone,  pale  and  still  and  uncomplain 
ing,  her  invariable  attitude  when  she  was  deeply  distressed, 
and  not  to  be  able  to  say  a  word  or  do  a  thing  to  relieve  her. 
As  usual  at  that  time  of  the  year,  everybody  whom  she  cared 
to  see  at  all  was  away  except  myself,  so  that  during  the 
dreariest  of  the  winter  months  she  was  shut  up  with  her  grief 
in  the  most  unwholesome  isolation.  As  the  spring  returned, 
however,  she  began  to  revive,  and  then,  suddenly,  it  appeared 
to  me  that  she  entered  upon  a  new  phase  altogether. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DURING  the  first  days  of  our  acquaintance  Evadne's  atti 
tude,  whatever  happened,  surprised  me.  I  could  antici 
pate  her  action  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  just  the  precise 
thing  she  would  do  was  the  last  thing  I  had  expected;  I  knew 
her  feeling,  in  fact,  but  I  was  ignorant  of  the  material  it  had 
to  work  upon,  and  by  means  of  which  it  found  expression.  I 
had  begun  by  believing  her  to  be  cold  and  self-sufficing,  but 
even  before  her  illness  I  had  perceived  in  her  a  strange  desire 
for  sympathy,  and  foreseen  that  on  occasion  she  would  exact  it 
i  large  measure  from  anyone  she  cared  about.  It  was  mak 
ing  much  of  a  cut  finger  one  day  that  she  had  led  me  to  ex- 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWTXS.  595 

pect  she  would  be  exacting  in  illness,  languishing  as  ladies  do, 
to  excite  sympathy;  and  when  the  illness  came  I  found  I  had 
been  right  in  so  far  as  I  had  believed  that  she  would  appre-  - 
ciate  sympathy,  but  entirely  wrong  about  the  means  she  would 
employ  to  obtain  it.  Instead  of  languishing,  when  she  found 
herself  really  suffering,  she  pulled  herself  together,  and  bore 
the  trial  with  heroic  calm.  As  I  have  said,  she  never  uttered 
a  complaint;  and  she  had  the  strength  of  mind  to  ignore  annoy 
ances  which  few  people  in  perfect  health  could  have  borne 
with  fortitude.  Certainly  her  attitude  then  had  excited  sym 
pathy,  and  respect  as  well.  It  was  as  admirable  as  it  was  un 
expected. 

I  had  also  perceived  that  she  could  not  bear  anything  disa 
greeable.  She  seldom  showed  the  least  irritability  herself, 
nor  would  she  tolerate  it  for  a  moment  in  anyone  else.  Ser 
vants  who  were  not  always  cheerful  had  to  go,  and  the  kind 
of  people  who  snap  at  each  other  in  the  bosom  of  their  families 
she  carefully  avoided,  turning  from  them  instinctively  as  she 
would  have  done  from  any  perception  revolting  to  the  physi 
cal  senses;  and  that  she  would  fly  disgusted  from  sickening 
sights  or  sounds  or  odours  I  never  doubted.  But  here  again 
I  was  wrong — or  rather  the  evidence  was  utterly  misleading. 
I  found  her  one  day  sitting  on  the  bridge  of  a  little  river  that 
crossed  a  quiet  lane  near  their  house,  and  got  down  from  my 
horse  to  talk  to  her,  and  as  we  stood  looking  over  the  parapet 
looking  into  the  stream,  the  bloated  carcase  of  a  dead  dog 
came  floating  by.  She  could  only  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  it, 
for  she  drew  back  instantly,  but  she  looked  so  pale  and 
nauseated  that  I  had  to  take  her  to  the  house,  and  insist  upon 
her  having  some  wine.  And  I  once  took  her,  at  her  own 
earnest  request,  to  visit  a  children's  hospital ;  but  before  we 
had  seen  a  dozen  of  the  little  patients  she  cried  so  piteously  I 
was  obliged  to  take  her  away;  and  she  could  never  bear  to 
speak  of  the  place  afterward.  And  lastly,  I  had  seen  how 
she  shrank  from  going  to  the  palace  because  of  the  associa 
tion  with  Edith's  terrible  death,  and  the  chance  of  seeing  her 
poor,  repulsive  looking  little  boy  there. 

Yet  when  it  came  to  be  a  question  of  facing  absolute  horrors 
in  the  interests  of  the  sufferers,  she  was  the  first  to  volunteer, 
and  she  did  so  with  a  quiet  determination  there  was  no  resist 
ing,  and  every  trace  of  inward  emotion  so  carefully  obliter 
ated  that  one  might  have  been  forgiven  for  supposing  her  to 
be  altogether  callous. 


596  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

This  happened  after  her  mother's  death,  in  the  spring,  when 
she  had  already  begun  to  revive,  and  was  the  first  startling 
symptom  she  showed  of  the  new  phase  of  interest  and  energy 
upon  which  I  suspected  she  was  entering.  I  hoped  at  the 
time  that  the  great  grief  had  carried  off  the  minor  ailments  of 
the  mind  as  the  great  illness  did  of  the  body,  and  that  the  change 
would  prove  to  be  for  the  better  eventually,  although  the  first 
outcome  of  it  was  not  the  kind  of  thing  I  liked  at  all — for  her. 

I  had  not  seen  her  for  a  week  or  so  when  she  was  ushered 
one  morning  into  my  consulting  room.  She  had  not  asked  for 
an  appointment,  and  had  been  waiting  to  take  her  turn  with 
the  other  patients. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  lor  you?"  I  said.  I  was  somewhat 
surprised  to  see  her.  "  You  don't  look  very  ill." 

"  No,  thank  goodness,"  she  answered  cheerfully;  "and  I 
don't  mean  to  be  ill.  I  have  come  to  be  vaccinated." 

"Ah,  that  is  wise,"  I  said. 

"  You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  that  small-pox  has  broken  out 
in  the  barracks  ?  "  she  said  when  she  was  going.  "  There  are 
fifteen  cases,  four  of  them  women,  and  one  a  child,  and  they 
are  going  to  put  them  under  canvas  on  the  common,  and  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  go  and  see  that  they  are  properly  nursed. 
That  is  why  I  am  in  such  a  hurry.  Military  nursing  is  of 
the  most  primitive  kind  in  times  of  peace.  Our  doctor  is 
all  that  he  should  be,  but  what  can  he  do  but  prescribe  ?  It 
takes  all  his  time  just  to  go  round  and  get  through  his  ordi 
nary  duties." 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you  are  going  to  look 
after  the  small-pox  patients  ?  "  I  asked  politely. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  defiantly.  "  I  am  going  to  be  isolated 
with  them  out  on  the  common.  My  tent  is  already  pitched. 
I  shall  not  take  small-pox,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  sure,"  I  said. 

She  gave  me  one  of  her  most  puzzling  answers,  one  of  those 
in  which  I  felt  there  was  an  indication  of  the  something  about 
her  which  I  did  not  understand. 

"  Oh,  because  it  is  such  a  relief  !  "  she  said. 

"  How  a  relief  ?  "  I  questioned. 

"Oh— I  shall  not  take  the  disease,"  she  repeated,  " and  I 
shall  enjoy  the  occupation." 

But  this,  I  knew,  was  an  evasion.  However,  I  had  no  time 
to  argue  the  point  with  her  just  then,  so  I  waited  until  my 
consultations  were  over,  and  then  went  to  see  Colonel  Colqu- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  597 

houn.  I  thought  if  he  would  not  forbid  he  might  at  all  events 
persuade  her  to  abandon  her  rash  design.  I  found  him  at  his 
own  place,  walking  about  the  garden  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth.  He  was  in  a  facetious 
mood,  the  one  of  his  I  most  disliked. 

"  Now,  you  look  quite  concerned,"  he  said,  with  an  extra  affec 
tation  of  brogue,  when  I  had  told  him  my  errand.  '*  Sure,  she 
humbugs  you,  Evadne  does  !  If  you  kn-ew  her  as  well  as  I  do, 
you'd  not  be  troubling  yourself  about  her  so  much.  I  tell  you, 
she'll  come  to  no  harm  in  the  world.  Now  what  do  you  think 
were  her  reasons  for  going  to  live  in  the  small-pox  camp  ?  " 

"  Then  she  has  gone  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  gone,"  he  answered.  "  The  grass  never  has 
time  to  grow  under  that  young  woman's  feet  if  she's  an  idea 
to  carry  out,  I  will  say  that  for  her.  But  what  do  you  think 
she  said  when  I  asked  her  why  she'd  be  going  among  the 
small-pox  patients  ?  '  Oh,'  she  said,  '  I  want  to  see  what  they 
look  like  ! ',  And  she'd  another  reason,  too.  She'll  make  her 
self  look  like  an  interesting  nurse,  you  know,  and  quite  enjoy 
dressing  up  for  the  part." 

I  felt  sure  that  all  this  was  a  horrid  perversion  of  the  truth, 
but  I  let  it  pass. 

"  You'll  not  interfere,  then  ?  "  I  persisted. 

"  Not  I,  indeed  ! "  he  answered.  "  She  never  comes  com- 
mandering  it  over  me,  and  I'm  not  going  to  meddle  with  her 
private  affairs,  so  long  as  she  doesn't  come  here  bringing 
infection,  that's  all." 

"  But  she  may  catch  the  disease  herself  and  die  of  it,  or  be 
disfigured  for  life,"  I  remonstrated. 

"  And  she  might  catch  her  death  of  cold  here  in  the  gar- 
den,  or  be  burnt  beyond  all  recognition  by  a  spark  setting 
fire  to  her  ball-dress  the  next  time  she  wears  one,"  he  an 
swered  philosophically.  "  When  you  look  at  the  chances, 
now,  they're  about  equal.1 

He  smiled  at  me  complacently  when  he  had  said  this,  and 
something  he  saw  in  my  face  inclined  him  to  chuckle,  but  he 
suppressed  the  inclination,  twirling  his  fair  moustache  instead, 
first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  rapidly.  In  his  youth 
he  must  have  been  one  of  those  small  boys  who  delighted 
spear  a  bee  with  a  pin  and  watch  it  buzz  round.  The  boy 
is  pretty  sure  the  bee  can't  hurt  him,  but  yet  half  the  pleas 
ure  of  the  performance  lies  in  the  fact  of  its  having  a  sting. 
It  would  not  have  been  convenient  for  Colonel  Colquhoun  to 


598  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

quarrel  with  me,  because  there  had  been  certain  money  trans, 
actions  between  us  which  left  him  greatly  my  debtor  ;  but  he 
thought  me  secured  by  my  interest  in  Evadne,  and  indulged 
himself  on  every  possible  occasion  in  the  pleasure  of  op 
posing  me.  Not  that  he  bore  me  any  ill-will,  either.  I  knew 
that  he  would  borrow  more  money  from  me  at  any  time  in 
the  friendliest  way,  if  he  happened  to  want  it.  I  was  his 
honey  bee,  and  he  was  fond  of  honey  ;  but  it  delighted  him 
also  to  see  me  buzz. 

I  was  obliged  to  consider  my  own  patients  and  keep  away 
from  the  small-pox  camp  during  the  epidemic,  for  fear  of 
carrying  infection,  and  consequently  I  saw  nothing  of  Evadne, 
and  only  heard  of  her  through  the  military  doctor,  for  she 
would  not  write.  His  report  of  her,  however,  was  always  the 
same  at  first.  She  was  the  life  of  the  camp,  bright,  cheerful, 
and  active,  never  tired  apparently,  and  never  disheartened. 
This  went  on  for  some  time,  and  then,  one  evening,  there 
came  another  report.  She  was  just  as  cheerful  as  ever,  but 
looking  most  awfully  done. 

At  daybreak  next  morning  I  drove  out  to  the  common,  and, 
leaving  my  dogcart  outside  the  camp,  went  in  to  look  for  her. 
I  knew  that  she  was  generally  up  all  night,  and  was  therefore 
prepared  to  find  her  about,  and  I  met  her  making  her  way 
toward  her  own  tent.  She  was  dressed  like  a  French  bonne, 
in  a  short  dark  blue  gown  made  of  some  washing  material, 
with  a  white  apron  and  white  cap,  and  a  chatelaine  with  use 
ful  implements  upon  it  hanging  from  her  girdle,  a  very  suit 
able  costume  for  the  work  ;  but  she  wore  no  wrap  of  any  kind, 
and  the  morning  air  was  keen. 

I  noticed  as  she  walked  toward  me  that  her  gait  was  a  little 
uncertain.  Once  she  put  out  her  hand  as  if  seeking  some 
thing  to  grasp,  and  once  she  staggered  and  stopped.  I 
hastened  to  her  assistance,  and  saw  as  I  approached  her  that 
she  was  colourless  even  to  her  lips;  her  eyes  were  bright  and 
sunken,  with  large  black  circles  round  them,  and  the  lids  were 
heavy.  I  drew  her  hand  through  my  arm  without  more  formal 
greeting,  and  she  grasped  it  gratefully  for  a  moment,  then 
dropped  it  and  stepped  back. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  said,  "  it  seems  so  natural  to  see  you  any 
where.  But  don't  touch  me.  I  shall  infect  you." 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  home  and  change  in  any  case,"  I 
answered  briskly. 

"  I've  been  up  all  night  with  a  poor  woman,"  she  said,  "  and 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  599 

I'm  just  tired  out.  Don't  look  concerned,  though.  I  shall  not 
take  small-pox.  My  own  illness,  you  remember,  was  a  bless 
ing  in  disguise,  and  I  am  sure  the  absorbing  distraction  of 
helping  to  relieve  others —  •"  she  stopped  short,  looked  about 
her  confusedly,  and  then  exclaimed  :  "  It  is  quite  time  I  went 
to  bed.  I  declare  I  don't  know  the  Hospital  Tent  from  the 
sandy  common,  nor  a  rabbit  running  about  from  a  convalescent 
child,  and  the  whin  bushes  are  waltzing  round  me  derisively." 
She  swayed  a  little,  recovered  herself,  tried  to  laugh,  then 
threw  up  her  hands,  and  fell  forward  into  my  arms. 

I  carried  her  to  her  tent,  guided  by  one  of  the  men.  On 
the  way  Dr.  James  joined  us.  We  laid  her  on  her  bed  and 
looked  anxiously  for  symptoms  of  the  dreadful  disease,  but 
there  were  none. 

"  No,  you  see,"  Dr.  James  declared,  "  it's  just  what  I  ex 
pected — sheer  exhaustion,  and  nothing  else.  But  she'd  better 
be  got  out  of  this  atmosphere  at  once." 

She  was  in  a  semi-unconscious,  semi-somnolent  state,  half 
syncope,  half  sleep,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
rousing  her  just  then,  so  we  wrapped  her  up  warmly  in  shawls, 
sent  for  my  dogcart,  and  lifted  her  on  the  back  seat,  where  I 
supported  her  as  best  I  could,  while  my  man  drove  us  to  As- 
You-Like-It. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  was  not  up  when  we  arrived,  but  I 
waited  to  see  her  swallow  some  champagne  after  she  had  been 
put  to  bed,  and  in  the  meantime  the  bustle  had  aroused  him. 
When  he  learnt  the  occasion  of  it,  his  wrath  knew  no  bounds. 
He  could  not  have  abused  me  in  choicer  language  if  I  had 
been  one  of  his  own  subalterns.  But  I  managed  to  keep  my 
temper  until  I  could  get  a  word  in,  and  then  I  mildly  sug 
gested  that  the  best  thing  he  could  do,  as  he  was  so  afraid  of 
infection,  was  to  give  himself  leave,  and  be  off.  "  Nobody 
will  expect  you  to  stay  and  look  after  your  wife,"  I  said. 
"  You'd  better  go  to  town." 

It  was  what  he  would  have  done  if  I  had  not  advised  it,  but 
the  habit  of  opposing  me  was  becoming  so  inveterate  that  he 
changed  his  mind,  and,  rather  than  act  upon  a  suggestion  of 
mine,  ran  the  risk  of  living  in  barracks  until  all  fear  of  infec 
tion  was  over. 

Happily  Evadne  suffered  from  nothing  worse  than  exhaus 
tion,  and  soon  recovered  her  strength  ;  but  I  never  could 
agree  with  Dr.  James  about  the  merit  of  her  conduct  during 
the  epidemic. 


6oo  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS 


CHAPTER  X. 

IT  was  about  this  time,  that  is  to  say,  immediately  after  the 
outbreak  of  small-pox  was  over,  and  in  the  height  of  the 
summer,  that  Mr.  and  Lady  Adeline  Hamilton-Wells  returned 
from  a  prolonged  absence  abroad,  and  settled  themselves  for 
a  few  months  at  Hamilton  House.  I  happened  to  be  in  Lon 
don  when  they  arrived,  and  saw  them  there  as  they  passed 
through.  Lady  Adeline  made  particular  inquiries  about 
Evadne.  "I  don't  think  you,  any  of  you,  understand  that 
girl,"  she  said.  "  She  is  shy,  and  should  be  set  going.  She 
requires  to  be  induced  to  come  forward  to  do  her  share  of  the 
work  of  the  world,  but,  instead  of  helping  her,  everybody 
lets  her  alone  to  mope  in  luxurious  idleness  at  As-You-Like- 
It." 

"  She  is  never  idle,"  I  protested. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  Lady  Adeline  answered.  "  She 
sits  and  sews  ;  but  that  is  idle  trifling  for  a  woman  of  her 
capacity.  She  was  out  of  health  and  good-for-nothing  when  I 
saw  her  last  with  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  in  Paris,  and  therefore  I 
held  my  peace  ;  but  now  I  mean  to  take  her  out  of  herself, 
and  show  her  her  mistake." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  do  so,"  I  said,  and  I  was  not 
speaking  ironically  ;  but  all  the  same  I  scarcely  expected  that 
she  would  succeed.  The  day  after  my  return  home,  however, 
which  was  only  a  week  later,  I  called  at  Hamilton  House,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  then  that  she  had  already  made  a  very  good 
beginning.  It  was  a  brilliant  afternoon,  and  I  had  walked 
through  the  fields  from  Fountain  Towers,  and  found  Lady 
Adeline  alone  for  the  moment,  sitting  out  on  the  terrace  under 
an  awning,  somewhat  overcome  by  the  heat. 

"  You  have  arrived  at  an  acceptable  time,  as  you  always  do," 
she  said,  in  her  decided  kindly  way.  "  I  am  enjoying  a  brief 
period  of  repose  before  the  racket  begins  again,  and  I  invite 
you  to  share  it." 

l<  The  racket  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No,  the  repose,"  she  replied.  "  Angelica  is  staying  here, 
and  Evadne " 

"  Mrs.  Colquhoun  and  racket ! "  I  ejaculated. 

"Well,  it  is  difficult  to  associate  the  two  ideas,  I  confess," 
she  answered;  "  but  you  will  see  for  yourself.  Angelica  makes 
the  racket,  of  course,  but  Evadne  enjoys  it.  I  went  to  As-You- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  60 1 

Like-It  as  soon  as  I  could,  without  waiting  for  her  to  call  upon 
me,  and  I  found  her  just  as  you  had  led  me  to  expect,  all  staid 
propriety  and  precision,  hiding  deep  dejection  beneath  an 
affectation  of  calm  content — at  least,  that  was  my  interpreta 
tion  of  her  attitude — and  inclined  to  be  stiff  with  me;  but  I 
approached  her  as  her' mother's  oldest  and  dearest  friend,  and 
she  softened  at  once." 

"  And  you  brought  her  here  ?  " 

"  That  is  quite  the  proper  word  for  it,"  she  rejoined.  "  I 
just  brought  her.  I  insisted  upon  her  coming.  I  gave  her  no 
choice.  And  I  also  asked  Colonel  Colquhoun,  but  he  de 
clined.  He  said  he  thought  Evadne  would  be  all  the  better 
for  getting  away  from  home,  and  I  agreed  with  him.  He 
comes  over,  however,  occasionally,  and  they  seem  to  be  very 
good  friends.  I  don't  dislike  him  at  all." 

This  was  said  tentatively,  but  I  did  not  care  to  discuss 
Colonel  Colquhoun,  and  therefore,  to  change  the  subject,  I 
asked  Lady  Adeline  how  she  found  Angelica. 

"  Very  much  improved  in  every  way,"  she  answered.  "  The 
happiest  understanding  has  come  to  exist  between  herself  and 
her  husband  since  that  dreadful  occurrence.  They  are  simply 
inseparable.  She  said  to  me  the  other  day  that  her  only 
chance  of  ever  showing  to  any  advantage  at  all  would  be 
against  the  quiet  background  of  her  husband's  unobtrusive 
goodness.  And  I  think  myself  that  a  great  many  people 
would  never  have  believed  in  her  if  he  had  not.  All  her 
faults  are  so  apparent,  alas !  while  the  very  real  and  earnest 
purpose  of  her  life  is  so  seldom  seen." 

"  She  has  been  working  very  hard  lately,  I  believe." 

"Yes,"  Lady  Adeline  answered;  "  but  I  am  thankful  to  say 
she  has  set  up  a  private  secretary,  and  who  do  you  think  it  is  ? 
Our  dear  good  Mr.  Ellis  !  " 

"I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  of  it,"  I  said,  "both  for  his 
sake  and  hers." 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed.  "  It  did  not  seem  right  that  he  should 
ever  go  away  from  amongst  us,  and  you  know  how  we  all 
felt  the  severance  after  Diavolo  went  into  the  service,  and 
there  seemed  no  help  for  it,  as  his  occupation  was  over, 
am  afraid,  poor  fellow,  his  experiences  since  he  left  us  have 
been  anything  but  happy.  All  that  is  over  now,  however,  and 
it  does  seem  so  natural  to  have  him  about  again  ! 

"  He  must  make  an  admirable  secretary,"  I  said. 

« Admirable!"  she  agreed— "in  every  way,  for  I   don  t 


602  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

think  Angelica  would  ever  have  got  on  quite  so  well  with 
anybody  else.  He  was  always  able  to  make  her  respect  him, 
and  now  the  habit  is  confirmed,  so  that  he  has  more  influence 
with  her  for  good  than  almost  anybody  else — a  restraining 
influence,  you  know.  Her  great  fault  still  is  impatience.  She 
thinks  everything  should  be  put  right  the  moment  she  perceives 
it  to  be  wrong,  and  would  raise  revolutions  if  she  were  not 
restrained.  It  is  always  difficult  to  make  her  believe  that 
evolution  if  slower  is  surer.  But  here  they  are." 

As  Lady  Adeline  spoke,  Angelica,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Kilroy  and  Mr.  Ellis,  came  out  of  the  plantation  to  the  left  of 
the  terrace  upon  which  we  were  sitting,  and  walked  across  the 
lawn  toward  us,  while  at  the  same  moment  Diavolo  and 
Evadne  came  round  the  corner  of  the  house  from  the  opposite 
direction  and  went  to  meet  them.  Evadne  carried  a  parasol,  but 
wore  neither  hat  nor  gloves.  She  looked  very  happy,  listening 
to  Diavolo's  chatter. 

Angelica  carried  a  fishing  rod,  and  I  thought,  as  she 
approached,  that  I  had  never  seen  a  more  splendid  specimen 
of  hardy,  healthy,  vigorous  young  womanhood. 

Evadne  looked  sickly  beside  her,  and  drooping,  like  a  pale 
and  fragile  flower  in  want  of  water.  The  contrast  must  have 
struck  Lady  Adeline  also,  for  presently  she  observed:  "  Evadne 
was  as  strong  as  Angelica  once.  Do  you  suppose  her  health 
has  been  permanently  injured  Dy  that  horrid  Maltese  fever  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said  positively.  "  If  she  would  give  up  sewing, 
and  take  a  fishing  rod,  and  go  out  with  Angelica  in  a  sensible 
dress  like  that,  she  would  be  as  strong  as  ever  in  six  months. 
But  I  fancy  she  would  be  shocked  by  the  bare  suggestion." 

Angelica  hugged  Diavolo  heartily  when  they  met,  and  thenv 
being  the  taller  of  the  two,  she  put  her  arm  round  his  neck, 
and  all  three  strolled  slowly  on  toward  us,  Mr.  Ellis  and  Mr. 
Kilroy  having  already  come  up  on  to  the  terrace  and  sat 
down.  While  greeting  the  two  latter  I  lost  sight  of  the 
Heavenly  Twins,  and  when  I  looked  at  them  again  something 
had  evidently  gone  wrong.  Angelica  stood  leaning  on  her  rod 
berating  Diavolo,  who  was  answering  with  animation,  while 
Evadne  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  amazement,  as  the 
strange  good  child  looks  at  the  strange  naughty  ones.  What 
ever  the  difference  was  it  was  soon  over,  and  then  they  came 
on  again,  talking  and  walking  briskly,  followed  by  four  dogs. 

"  I  am  vulgar,  decidedly,  at  times,"  Angelica  acknowledged 
as  she  came  up  the  steps.  <;  I  shouldn't  be  half  so  amusing  if 


tiEAVENLY  TWltiS.  603 

I  were  not."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  me,  and  then  threw 
herself  into  the  only  unoccupied  chair  on  the  terrace,  but 
instantly  jumped  up  again.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Evadne," 
she  said.  "  These  are  my  society  manners.  When  I  am  on 
the  platform  or  otherwise  engaged  in  Unwomanly  pursuits  out 
side  the  Sphere,  I  have  to  be  more  considerate." 

Some  more  chairs  were  brought  out,  one  of  which  Diavolo 
placed  beside  me.  "  This  is  for  you,"  he  said  to  Evadne  ;  "  I 
know  you  like  to  be  near  the  Don."  Evadne  flushed  crimson. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  that  story?"  Angelica  asked  me. 

Evadne's  embarrassment  visibly  increased.  "Angelica, 
don't  tell  it,"  she  remonstrated;  "It  isn't  fair." 

Angelica  laughed.  "When  Evadne  first  came  here,"  she 
proceeded,  "she  sat  next  you  at  dinner  one  night,  and  didn't 
know  who  you  were  ;  but  it  seems  you  made  such  a  profound 
and  favourable  impression  upon  her  that  afterward  she  had 
the  curiosity  to  ask,  when  she  learnt  that  you  were  a  doctor. 
'  A  doctor  !  '  she  exclaimed  in  surprise.  '  He  is  more  like  a 
Don  than  a  doctor  ' '  and  you  have  been  '  Don'  to  her  inti 
mates  ever  since." 

"  Well,  I  feel  flattered,"  I  said. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  apologise,"  Evadne  began — "  only  I 
meant  no  disrespect." 

"  My  dear,"  Angelica  interposed,  "  he  is  delighted  to  be  dis 
tinguished  by  you  in  any  way.  But,  by  the  pricking  of  my 
thumbs,  something  wicked  " — and  Colonel  Colquhoun  came 
out  on  to  the  terrace  through  the  drawing  room  behind  us. 
He  shook  hands  with  us  all,  his  wife  included,  and  then  sat 
down. 

"  I  say,  Evadne "  Diavolo  began. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Lady  Adeline,  "you  mustn't  call  Mrs. 
Colquhoun  by  her  Christian  name." 

"  Christian  !  "  jeered  Diavolo.  "  Now,  that  is  a  good  one  ! 
There's  nothing  Christian  about  Evadne.  We  looked  her  up 
in  the  dictionary  ages  ago,  didn't  we,  Angelica?  The  name 
means  Well-pleasing-one,  as  nearly  as  possible,  and  it  suits 
her  sometimes.  Evadne— classical  Evadne— was  noted  for 
her  devotion  to  her  husband,  and  distinguished  herself  finally 
on  his  funeral  pyre— she  ex-pyred  there." 

We  all  groaned  aloud.  "  It  was  a  somewhat  theatrical  exit, 
I  confess,"  Diavolo  pursued.  "  But,  I  say,  Angelica,  wouldn't 
it  be  fun  to  burn  the  colonel,  and  see  Evadne  do  suttee  on  his 
body— only  I  doubt  if  she  would  !  "  He  turned  to  Evadne. 


E  HEAVENLY 

"  Mrs.  Colquhoun,"  he  began  ceremoniously;  "  may  I  have 
the  honour  of  calling  you  by  your  heathen  name — as  in  the 
days  beyond  recalling?" 

"  When  you  are  good,"  she  answered. 

"  Ugh  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  should  have  had  more  respect 
for  your  honesty  if  you  said  '  no  '  at  once.  And  it  is  very 
absurd  of  you,  too,  Evadne,  because  you  know  you  are  going 
to  marry  me  when  Colonel  Colquhoun  is  promoted  to  regions 
of  the  blest.  She  would  have  married  me  first,  only  you  stole 
a  march  on  me,  sir,"  he  added,  addressing  Colonel  Colquhoun. 
"  However,  I  feel  as  if  something  were  going  to  happen  now, 
at  last !  There  was  a  banshee  wailing  about  my  quarters  in 
a  minor  key,  very  flat,  last  night.  She  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Ireland  to  warn  Colonel  Colquhoun,  and  mistaken  the 
house,  I  suppose." 

"  My  dear " 

We  all  looked  round.  It  was  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  address 
ing  Lady  Adeline  in  his  most  precise  manner.  He  was  stand 
ing  in  the  open  French  window  just  behind  us,  tapping  one 
hand  with  t\\z  pince-nez  he  held  in  the  other. 

"  My  dear,  the  cat  has  five  kittens." 

"  My  dear  !  "  Lady  Adeline  exclaimed. 

"  They  have  only  just  arrived  and " 

"  Never  mind  them  now"  she  cried  hurriedly. 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  were  anxious  to  know." 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  in  the  least,"  she  protested. 

"But  only  this  morning  you  said " 

"  Oh,  that  was  upstairs,"  she  interrupted. 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ? "  he  wanted  to  know. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  anxious  about  the  cat  when 
you  are  upstairs,  and  not  anxious  when  you  come  down  ?" 

Lady  Adeline  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  resigned  herself 
to  a  long  altercation.  Before  it  ended  everybody  else  had 
disappeared,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  Evadne  on  that  occasion. 
But  during  the  next  few  weeks  I  had  many  opportunities  of 
observing  the  wonderful  way  she  was  waking  up  under  the 
influence  of  the  Heavenly  Twins. 

They  gave  her  no  time  for  reflection  ;  it  was  the  life  of 
action  against  the  life  of  thought,  and  it  suited  her. 

The  ladies  frequently  made  my  house  the  object  of  an 
afternoon  walk,  and  stayed  for  tea.  Lady  Adeline  declared 
that  the  "  girls  "  dragged  her  over  because  they  wanted  a  new 
victim  to  torment  with  their  superabundant  animal  spirits. 


THE  tfEAVENLY  TWINS.  605 

The  superabundance  was  all  Angelica's,  I  knew,  but  still 
Evadne  was  an  accomplice,  and  they  neither  of  them  spared 
me  in  those  days.  They  would  rob  my  hot-houses  of  the  best 
fruits  and  flowers,  disarrange  my  books,  turn  pictures  they 
did  not  like  with  their  faces  to  the  wall,  drape  my  statues 
fantastically,  criticise  what  they  called  my  absurd  bachelor 
habits,  and  give  me  good  advice  on  the  subject  of  marriage  ; 
Lady  Adeline  sitting  by  meanwhile,  aiding  and  abetting  them 
with  smiles,  although  protesting  that  she  would  not  allow 
them  to  make  me  the  butt  of  their  idle  raillery. 

Evadne  had  a  passion  for  the  scent  of  gorse.  She  crammed 
pockets,  sleeves,  shoes,  and  the  bosom  of  her  dress  with  the 
yellow  blossoms,  and  I  often  found  these  fragrant  tokens  of 
her  presence  scattered  about  my  house  after  she  had  been 
there.  Once,  when  we  were  all  out  walking  together,  she 
stopped  to  pick  some  from  a  bush,  and  as  she  was  putting 
them  into  her  bodice  she  made  a  remark  which  gave  me  pause 
to  ponder. 

"  You  will  want  to  know  why  I  do  that,  I  suppose,"  she 
said.  "  You  will  be  looking  for  a  motive,  for  some  secret 
spring  of  action.  The  simple  fact  that  I  love  the  gorse  won't 
satisfy  you.  You  would  like  to  know  why  I  love  it,  when  I 
first  began  to  love  it,  and  anything  else  about  it  that  might 
enable  you  to  measure  my  feeling  for  it." 

This  was  so  exactly  what  I  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  with 
regard  to  many  matters  that  I  could  not  say  a  word.  But  what 
struck  me  as  significant  about  the  observation  was  the  obvious 
fact,  gathered  by  inference,  that,  while  I  had  been  studying 
her,  she  also  had  been  studying  me,  and  I  had  never  sus 
pected  it. 

She  walked  on  with  Angelica  after  she  had  spoken,  and  I 
dropped  behind  with  Lady  Adeline. 

"  Your  Evadne  and  Colonel  Colquhoun's  wife  are  two  very 
different  people,"  I  said.  "  The  one  is  a  lively  girl,  the  other 
a  sad  and  bitter  woman." 

"  Sad,  not  bitter,"  Lady  Adeline  corrected. 

"  I  have  heard  her  say  bitter  things  !  "  I  maintained. 

"  You  may,  perhaps,  have  heard  her  condemn  wrong  ones 
rather  too  emphatically,"  Lady  Adeline  suggested, 
this  is  only  a  phase.     She  is  in  rather  a  deep  groove  at  present, 
but  we  shall  be  able  to  get  her  out  of  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered  dubiously. 
is  that  exactly.     I  believe  there  is  some  kind  of  warp  in  her 


606  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

mind.  I  perceive  it,  but  can  neither  define  nor  account  for  it 
yet.  It  is  something  morbid  that  makes  her  hold  herself  aloof. 
She  has  never  allowed  anybody  in  the  neighbourhood  to  be 
intimate  with  her.  Even  I,  who  have  seen  her  oftener  than  any 
body,  never  feel  that  I  know  her  really  well — that  I  could  reckon 
upon  what  she  would  do  in  an  emergency.  And  I  believe 
that  there  is  something  artificial  in  her  attitude  ;  but  why  ? 
What  is  the  explanation  of  all  that  is  unusual  about  her  ?  " 

Lady  Adeline  shook  her  head,  and  was  silent  for  some 
seconds,  then  she  said  :  "  I  once  had  a  friend — but  her  moral 
nature  quite  halted.  It  was  because  she  had  lost  her  faith  in 
men.  A  woman  who  thinks  that  only  women  can  be  worthy  is 
like  a  bird  with  a  broken  wing.  But  I  don't  say  that  that  is 
Evadne's  case  at  all.  Since  she  came  to  us  she  has  seemed  to 
be  much  more  like  one  of  those  marvellous  casks  of  sherry  out 
of  which  a  dozen  different  wines  are  taken.  The  flavour 
depends  on  the  doctoring.  Here,  under  Angelica's  influence — 
why,  she  has  filled  your  pocket  with  gorse  blossoms  !  " 

It  was  true.  In  taking  out  my  handkerchief,  I  had  just 
scattered  the  flowers,  and  so  discovered  that  they  were  there. 
"Then  you  give  her  credit  for  less  individuality — you  think 
her  more  at  the  mercy  of  her  surroundings  than  I  do,"  I 
said. 

But  before  she  could  answer  me,  Evadne  herself  had  joined 
us.  I  suppose  I  was  looking  grave,  for  she  asked  in  a  playful 
tone  : 

"  Did  he  ever  frolic,  Lady  Adeline,  this  solemn  seeming— 
Don  ?  Was  he  always  in  earnest,  even  on  his  mother's  lap, 
and  occupied  with  weighty  problems  of  life  and  death  when 
other  babes  were  wondering  with  wide  open  eyes  at  the  irre 
sponsible  action  of  their  own  pink  toes  ?" 

Which  made  me  reflect.  For  if  I  were  in  the  habit  of  being 
a  dull  bore  myself  it  was  no  wonder  that  I  seldom  saw  her 
looking  lively. 

The  following  week  Evadne  went  home,  and  as  soon  as  she 
was  settled  at  As-You-Like-It,  she  seemed  to  relapse  once 
more  into  her  former  state  of  apathy.  I  saw  her  day  after  day 
as  I  passed,  sitting  sewing  in  the  wide  west  window  above  the 
holly  hedge  ;  and  so  long  as  she  was  left  alone  she  seemed  to 
be  content  ;  but  I  began  to  notice  at  this  time  that  any  inter 
ruption  at  her  favourite  occupation  did  not  please  her.  The 
summer  heat,  the  scent  of  flowers  streaming  through  open 
windows,  the  song  of  birds,  the  level  landscape,  here  vividly 


THE  nZAVZMLY  TWINS.  607 

green  with  the  upspringing  aftermath,  there  crimson  and  gold 
where  the  poppies  gleamed  amongst  the  ripening  corn — all 
such  sweet  sensuous  influences  she  looked  out  upon  lovingly, 
and  enjoyed  them — so  long  as  she  was  left  alone.  On  hot 
afternoons,  Diavolo  would  go  and  lie  at  her  feet  sometimes, 
with  a  cushion  under  his  head  ;  and  him  she  tolerated  ;  but 
only,  I  am  sure,  because  he  always  fell  asleep. 

I  had  to  go  to  As-You-Like-It  one  day  to  transact  some 
business  with  Colonel  Colquhoun,  and  when  we  had  done  he 
asked  me  to  go  up  into  the  drawing  room  with  him.  "  Come, 
and  I'll  show  you  a  pretty  picture,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture.  They  had  both  fallen  asleep  on  that 
occasion.  It  was  a  torrid  day  outside,  but  the  deep  bay  where 
they  were  was  cool  and  shady.  The  windows  were  wide  open, 
the  outside  blinds  were  drawn  down  low  enough  to  keep  out 
the  glare,  but  not  so  far  as  to  hide  the  view.  Behind  Evadne 
was  a  stand  of  flowers  and  foliage  plants.  Diavolo  was  lying 
on  the  floor  in  his  favourite  attitude  with  a  black  satin  cush 
ion  under  his  head,  and  was,  with  his  slender  figure,  refined 
features,  thick,  curly,  fair  hair,  and  fine  transparent  skin, 
slightly  flushed  by  the  heat,  a  perfect  specimen  of  adolescent 
grace  and  beauty.  He  looked  like  a  young  lover  lying  at  the 
feet  of  his  lady.  Evadne  was  sitting  in  a  low  easy  chair,  with 
a  high  back,  against  which  her  head  was  resting.  Half  her 
face  was  concealed  by  a  fan  of  white  ostrich  feathers  which 
she  held  in  her  left  hand,  and  the  moment  I  looked  at  her  the 
haunting  certainty  of  having  seen  her  in  exactly  that  position 
once  before  recurred  to  me.  She  was  looking  well  that  after 
noon.  Her  glossy  dark  brown  hair  showed  bright  as  bronze 
against  the  satin  background  of  the  chair.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  gown  of  silver  gray  cashmere  lined  with  turquoise  blue 
silk,  which  showed  between  the  folds  ;  cool  colours  of  the 
best  shade  to  set  off  the  ivory  whiteness  of  her  skin. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  considered .  the  group  meditatively. 
"  She  keeps  her  looks,"  he  observed  in  an  undertone  ;  "  and 
Diavolo's  catching  her  up." 

I  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  She's  six  or  eight  years  older  than  he  is,  you  know,  he 
explained  ;  "  but  you  wouldn't  think  it  now." 

I  wondered  what  he  had  in  his  mind. 

"Times  are  changing,"  he  proceeded.  "  Now,  when  I  was 
a  lad,  if  a  lady  had  liked  me  as  well  as  Evadne  likes  that  boyc 
I'd  have  taken  advantage  of  her  preference." 


608  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  Not  if  the  lady  had  been  of  her  stamp,"  I  said  drily. 

"  Well,  true  for  you,"  he  acknowledged.  "  But  it  isn't  the 
lady  only  in  this  case.  It's  that  young  sybarite  himself.  He's 
as  particular  as  she  is.  He  said  the  other  day  at  mess — it  was  a 
guest  night,  and  there  was  a  big  dinner  on,  and  somebody  pro 
posed  'Wine  and  Women'  for  a  toast,  but  he  wouldn't  drink 
it :  '  Oh,  spare  me,'  he  said,  in  that  slow  way  he  has,  some 
thing  like  his  father's ;  '  Wine  and  women,  as  you  take  them, 
are  things  as  coarse  in  the  way  of  pleasure  as  pork  and  porter 
are  for  food.'  We  asked  him  then  to  give  us  his  own  ideas  of 
pleasure  ;  but  he  said  he  didn't  think  anybody  there  was  edu 
cated  up  to  them,  even  sufficiently  to  understand  them  ! — and 
he  wasn't  joking  altogether,  either,"  Colonel  Colquhoun  con 
cluded. 

At  that  same  moment  Evadne  opened  her  eyes  wide,  and 
looked  at  us  a  second  before  she  spoke,  but  showed  no  other 
sign  of  surprise. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  been  asleep,"  she  said,  rising  delib 
erately,  and  shaking  hands  with  me  across  the  prostrate  Dia- 
volo.  "  Do  sit  down." 

She  sank  back  into  her  own  chair  as  she  spoke,  and  fanned 
a  fly  from  Diavolo's  face.  "I  never  knew  anyone  sleep  so 
soundly,"  she  said,  looking  down  at  him  lovingly.  "  He  rides 
out  here  nearly  every  day  when  he  is  not  on  duty,  simply  for 
his  siesta.  Angelica  is  jealous,  I  believe,  because  he  will  not  go 
to  her.  He  says  there  is  no  repose  about  Angelica,  and  that  it 
is  only  here  with  me  that  he  finds  the  dreamful  ease  he  loves." 

There  was  a  sound  of  talking  outside  just  then,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  Angelica  herself  came  in  with  her  father. 

"  Oh,  you  darling!  you  are  a  pretty  boy  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
when  she  saw  Diavolo,  and  then  she  went  down  on  her  knees 
beside  him,  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  pulled  him  up,  and 
hugged  him  roughly,  an  attention  which  he  immediately  re 
sented.  "Ah,  I  thought  it  was  you  !  "  he  said,  opening  his 
eyes.  "  Good-bye,  sweet  sleep,  good-bye  !  "  Then  he  sat  up, 
and,  turning  his  back  to  Evadne,  coolly  rested  himself  against 
her  knee.  "  I  suppose  we  can  have  tea  now,"  he  said.  "There's 
always  something  to  look  forward  to.  Papa,  dear,  touch  the 
bell,  to  save  the  Colonel  the  trouble." 

Colonel  Colquhoun  laughed,  and  rang  it  himself  good- 
naturedly. 

"  Diavolo  !  "  Evadne  exclaimed,  pushing  him  away,  "  I  am 
not  going  to  nurse  a  great  boy  like  you." 


ttEAVENLY  TWIXS.  609 

"Well,  Angelica  must,  then,"  he  said,  changing  his  position 
so  as  to  lean  against  his  sister.  Angelica  laid  her  hand  on 
his  head,  and  her  face  softened.  "  Evadne  used  to  like  to 
nurse  me,"  he  complained.  "  She's  not  nearly  so  nice  since 
she  married.  I  say,  Angelica,  do  you  remember  the  wedding 
breakfast,  when  we  agreed  to  drink  as  much  champagne  as  the 
bridegroom  ?  I  swore  I  would  never  get  drunk  again,  and  I 
never  have." 

"  Faith,"  said  Colonel  Colquhoun,  « there  are  some  who'd 
like  to  be  able  to  say  the  same  thing." 

Some  dogs  had  followed  Angelica  in,  and  had  now  to  be 
turned  out,  because  Evadne  would  not  have  dogs  indoors. 
She  said  she  liked  a  good  dog's  character,  but  could  not  bear 
the  smell  of  him. 

"  And  how  are  the  children  ?  "  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  asked 
affably,  when  this  diversion  was  over. 

"  There  are  no  children  ! "  Evadne  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"  Are  there  not,  indeed.  Now,  that  is  singular,"  he  ob 
served.  Then  he  looked  at  me  as  if  he  were  about  to  say 
something  interesting,  but  I  hastily  interposed.  I  was  afraid 
he  was  going  to  speculate  about  the  natural  history  of  the 
phenomenon  which  had  just  struck  him  as  being  singular. 
He  knew  perfectly  well  that  Evadne  had  no  children,  but 
he  was  subject,  or  affected  to  be  subject,  to  moments  of 
obliviousness,  in  which  he  was  wont  to  ask  embarrassing 
questions. 

"  The  weather  is  quite  tropical,'*  was  the  original  observa 
tion  I  made.  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  felt  if  the  parting  of  his 
smooth,  straight  hair  was  exactly  in  the  middle,  patted  it  on 
either  side,  then  shook  back  imaginary  ruffles  from  his  long 
white  hands,  and  interlaced  his  jewelled  fingers  on  his  lap. 

"  You  were  never  in  the  tropics,  I  think  you  told  me  ? "  he 
said  to  Evadne,  with  exaggerated  preciseness.  "  Ah  !  now,  I 
have  been,  off  and  on,  several  times.  The  heat  is  very  try 
ing.  I  knew  a  lady,  the  wife  of  a  Colonial  Governor,  who 
used  to  be  so  overcome  by  it  that  she  was  obliged  to  undo  all 
her  things,  let  them  slip  to  the  ground,  and  step  out  of  them, 
leaving  them  looking  like  a  great  cheese.  She  told  me  so 
herself,  I  assure  you,  and  she  was  an  exceedingly  stout  per 
son." 

The  Heavenly  Twins  went  into  convulsions  suddenly. 

"  Is  that  tea  at  last? "  Evadne  asked. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  and  I  both  gladly  moved  to  make  room 


6tO  TH£  HEAVENLY   TfrlttS. 


for  the  servants  who  were  bringing  it  in,  and  the  conversation 
was  not  resumed  until  they  had  withdrawn.  Then  Angelica 
began:  "I  came  to  make  a  last  appeal  to  you,  Evadne.  I 
want  to  tell  you  about  a  poor  girl  -  " 

"  Oh,  don't  break  this  lovely  summer  silence  with  tales  of 
woe  !  "  Evadne  exclaimed,  interrupting  her.  "  I  cannot  do 
anything.  Don't  ask  me.  You  harrow  my  feelings  to  no  pur 
pose.  I  will  not  listen.  It  is  not  right  that  I  should  be  forced 
to  know." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  are  making  a  mistake,  Evadne,"  Angelica 
replied.  "Don't  you  think  so?"  looking  at  me.  "She  is 
sacrificing  herself  to  save  herself.  She  imagines  she  can 
secure  her  own  peace  of  mind  by  refusing  to  know  that  there 
is  a  weary  world  of  suffering  close  at  hand  which  she  should 
be  helping  to  relieve.  Suffering  for  others  strengthens  our 
own  powers  of  endurance  ;  we  lose  them  if  we  don't  exercise 
them  —  and  that  is  the  way  you  are  sacrificing  yourself  to  save 
yourself,  Evadne.  When  some  big  trouble  of  your  own,  one 
of  those  which  cannot  be  denied,  comes  upon  you,  it  will 
crush  you.  You  will  have  lost  the  moral  muscle  you  should 
be  exercising  now  to  keep  it  in  good  working  order  and 
develop  it  well  for  your  own  use  when  you  require  it.  It 
would  not  be  worse  for  you  to  take  a  stimulant  or  a  sedative 
to  wind  yourself  up  to  an  artificially  pleasurable  state  when  at 
any  time  you  are  not  naturally  cheerful  —  and  that  is  what  a 
too  great  love  of  peace  occasionally  ends  in." 

Evadne  waved  her  ostrich  feather  fan  backward  and  for 
ward  slowly,  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  She  would  not 
even  listen  to  this  friendly  counsel,  and  I  felt  sure  she  was 
making  a  mistake. 

I  only  saw  her  once  again  that  summer  under  Lady  Adeline's 
salutary  influence.  It  was  a  few  days  later,  and  Evadne  was 
in  an  expansive  mood.  She  had  been  spending  the  day  with 
Lady  Adeline,  and  the  two  had  been  for  a  drive  together,  and 
had  overtaken  me  on  the  road  and  picked  me  up  on  their  way 
back  to  Hamilton  House.  I  had  been  for  a  solitary  ramble, 
and  was  then  returning  to  work,  but  Evadne  said  I  must  go 
back  to  tea  with  them  :  "  For  your  own  sake,  because  it  is  a 
shame  to  waste  a  summer  day  in  work  —  a  glorious  summer  day 
so  evidently  sent  for  our  enjoyment." 

"  The  greatest  pleasure  in  life  is  to  be  in  perfect  condition 
for  the  work  one  loves,"  I  answered  ;  but  I  was  settling  myself 
comfortably  in  the  carriage  as  I  spoke,  such  is  the  consistency 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  611 

of  man.  But  indeed  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  persuade  me 
to  idle  that  afternoon.  I  had  been  inclining  that  way  for 
weeks,  under  the  influence  of  the  intoxicating  heat  doubtless  ; 
and  presently,  when  I  found  myself  comfortably  seated  on  the 
wide  stone  terrace  outside  the  great  drawing  room  at  Hamilton 
House,  under  a  shady  awning,  looking  down  upon  lawns 
vividly  green  and  lovely  gardens  all  aglow  with  colour  and 
alive  with  perfume,  which  is  the  soul  of  the  flowers,  I  yielded 
sensuous  service  to  the  hour,  and  gave  myself  up  to  the  enjoy 
ment  of  it  unreservedly. 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  was  there,  making  tea  in  the  precisest 
manner,  and  looking  more  puritanical  than  ever.  How  to 
reconcile  his  coldly  formal  exterior  with  the  interior  from 
which  emanated  his  choice  of  subjects  in  conversation  is  a 
matter  which  J  have  not  yet  had  time  to  study,  although  I  am 
convinced  that  the  solution  of  the  problem  would  prove  to  be 
of  great  scientific  value  and  importance.  I  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  thinking  of  him  as  either  a  man  or  a  woman  myself, 
however,  but  as  a  specimen  of  humanity  broadly,  and  domes 
tically  as  a  husband  whom  I  always  suspected  of  being  a  sharp 
sword  of  the  law,  although  I  had  never  obtained  the  slightest 
evidence  of  the  fact. 

Lady  Adeline  was  lolling  in  a  low  cane  chair,  fatigued  by 
her  drive,  and  longing  aloud  for  tea  ;  and  Evadne  was  flitting 
about  with  her  hat  in  her  hand,  laughing  and  talking  more 
than  any  of  us.  She  was  wearing  an  art  gown,  very  becoming 
to  her,  and  suitable  also  for  such  sultry  weather,  as  Mr. 
Hamilton-Wells  remarked. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  a  strong  supporter  of  the  aesthetic  dress 
movement,"  he  said,  doubtless  alluding  to  the  graceful  freedom 
of  her  delicate  primrose  draperies. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  answered,  seating  herself  on  the  arm  of  a 
chair  near  Lady  Adeline,and  opening  her  fan  gently  as  she  spoke. 

I  was  inspired  to  ask  for  more  tea  just  then.  Mr.  Hamilton- 
Wells  poured  it  out  and  handed  it  to  me.  "You  take  milk," 
he  informed  me,  "  but  no  sugar."  Then  he  folded  his  hands 
and  recommenced.  "  To  return  to  the  original  point  of  depar 
ture,"  he  began,  "which  was  modern  dress,  if  I  remember 
rightly  " — he  smiled  round  upon  us  all,  knowing  quite  well 
that  he  remembered  rightly— "that  brings  us  by  an  obvious 
route  to  another  question  of  the  day  ;  I  mean  the  position  of 
women.  How  do  you  regard  their  position  at  this  latter  end 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  Evadne?" 


6i2  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  I  do  not  regard  it  at  all,  if  I  can  help  it,"  she  answered 
incisively. 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  dropped  his  outspread  hands  upon  his 
knees. 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,"  he  said,  "you  take  no  interest  in 
politics  either.  That  is  quite  a  phenomenon  at  this  latter  end 
of  the  nineteenth  century." 

"  I  have  my  duties — the  duties  of  my  social  position,  you 
know,"  she  answered,  "  and  my  own  little  pursuits  as  well, 
neither  of  which  I  can  neglect  for  the  affairs  of  the  world." 

**  But  are  they  enough  for  you  ?  "  Lady  Adeline  ventured. 

Evadne  glanced  up  to  see  what  she  meant,  and  then  smiled. 
"  The  wisdom  of  ages  is  brought  to  the  training  of  each  little 
girl,"  she  said  ;  "  and  to  fit  her  for  our  position,  she  is  taught 
that  a  woman's  one  object  in  life  is  to  be  agreeable." 

"  You  mean  that  a  woman  of  decided  opinions  is  not  an 
agreeable  person  ?  "  Lady  Adeline  asked. 

"  Decided  opinions  must  always  be  offensive  to  those  who 
don't  hold  them,"  Evadne  rejoined. 

"  A  woman  must  know  that  the  future  welfare  of  her  own 
sex,  and  the  progress  of  the  world  at  large,  depends  upon  the 
action  of  women  now,  and  the  success  attending  it,"  Angelica 
observed  comprehensively. 

"  Yes,  but  she  knows  also  that  her  own  comfort  and  con 
venience  depend  entirely  on  her  neutrality,"  Evadne  answered. 
"  It  is  not  high-minded  to  be  neutral,  I  know,  when  it  is  put  in 
that  way  ;  but  a  woman  who  is  so  becomes  exactly  what  the 
average  man,  taken  at  his  word,  would  have  her  be,  and  he  is, 
we  are  assured,  the  proper  person  to  legislate." 

She  looked  at  us  all  defiantly  as  she  spoke,  and  furled  her 
fan  ;  and  just  at  that  moment  Colonel  Colquhoun  joined  us. 
He  had  come  to  fetch  her,  and  his  entrance  gave  a  new  turn 
to  the  conversation. 

"  It  has  been  oppressively  hot  all  day,"  he  observed. 

"Yes,"  Lady  Adeline  answered,  "  and  I  do  so  long  for  the 
mountains  in  weather  like  this." 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  "  said  Evadne.  "  Are  you  subject  to  the 
magnet  of  the  mountains  ?  I  am  not.  I  do  not  want  to  feel 
the  nothingness  of  man  ;  I  like  to  believe  in  his  greatness,  in 
his  infinite  possibilities.  I  like  to  think  of  life  as  a  level  plain 
over  which  we  can  gallop  to  some  goal— I  don't  know  what,  but 
something  desirable  ;  and  the  actual  landscape  pleases  me  best 
so.  The  great  tumbled  mountains  make  me  melancholy,  they 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  613 

are  always  foreboding  something  untoward,  even  at  the  best 
of  times  ;  but  the  open  spaces,  windswept  and  evident— I  love 
them.  I  am  at  home  on  them.  I  can  breathe  there— I  am 
free." 

This  was  the  natural  woman  at  last,  in  her  aspirations  uncon 
sciously  showing  herself  superior  to  the  artificial  creature  she 
was  trying  to  be. 

"  I  hate  the  melancholy  mountains,"  the  ever-ready  Angelica 
burst  forth.  «  I  loathe  the  inconstant  sea.  The  breezy  plain 
for  a  gallop  !  It  is  there  that  one  feels  free  !  " 

Colonel  Colquhoun  looked  at  Evadne  meditatively,  and 
slowly  twisted  each  end  of  his  heavy  blond  moustache.  "  I 
haven't  seen  you  riding  for  some  time  now,"  he  said,  "  and 
it's  a  pity,  for  you've  a  fine  seat  on  a  horse." 

I  was  obliged  to  make  up  that  night  for  the  time  lost  in  the 
afternoon,  and  the  dawn  had  broken  when  at  last  I  put  my 
work  away.  I  opened  the  study  windows  wider  to  salute  it. 
A  lark  was  singing  somewhere  out  of  sight — 

Die  Lerche,  die  im  augen  nicht^ 
Doch  immer  in  den  ohren  ist — 

and  the  ripples  of  undecipherable  sound  struck  some  equally 
inarticulate  chord  of  sense,  and  fell  full-fraught  with  associa 
tion.  The  breeze,  murmurous  amongst  the  branches,  set  the 
leaves  rustling  like  silk  attire.  Did  I  imagine  it,  or  was  there 
really  a  faint  sweet  perfume  of  yellow  gorse  in  the  air  ?  A 
thrush  on  a  bough  below  began  to  flute  softly,  trying  its  tones 
before  it  burst  forth,  giving  full  voice  to  its  enthusiasm  in  one 
clear  call,  eloquent  of  life  and  love  and  longing,  and  all  expressed 
in  just  three  notes — crotchet,  quaver,  crotchet  and  rest — 
which  shortly  shaped  themselves  to  a  word  in  my  heart,  a 
word  of  just  three  syllables,  the  accent  being  on  the  penulti 
mate—  "  E-vad-ne  !  E-vad-ne  !  " 

Good  Heavens  ! 

I  roused  myself.  Not  a  proper  state  of  mind  certainly  for 
a  man  of  my  years  and  pursuits.  Why,  how  old  was  I  ? 
Thirty-five — not  so  old  in  one  way,  yet  ten  years  older  at  least 
than — stop— sickly  sentimentality.  "  Life  is  real,  life  is  ear 
nest,"  and  there  must  be  no  dreams  of  scented  gorse,  of  posing 
in  daffodil  draperies,  for  me.  Must  take  a  holiday  and  rest 

take  my  ''agreeable  ugliness  "  off  (I  was  amused  when  the 

Heavenly  Twins  told  me  their  mother  talked  of  my  "  agree- 


6 14  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

able  ugliness  "  ;  but,  now,  did  I  like  it  ?  No.  I  was  cynical 
when  I  said  it)  take  my  "  agreeable  ugliness"  off  to  the  moun 
tains — "Turn  thine  eyes  unto  the  mountains" — the  magnet  of 
the  mountains.  Yes,  I  felt  it.  I  delighted  to  do  so.  I  was 
not  morbid.  To  the  mountains  !  to  the  cold  which  stays  cor 
ruption,  the  snows  which  are  pure,  and  the  eternal  silence  ! 
By  ten  o'clock  that  night  I  was  well  on  my  way. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

1WENT  abroad  that  year  for  my  holiday,  but  spent  the  last 
week  of  it  in  London  on  my  way  home.  All  the  vapours  of 
sentimentality  had  disappeared  by  that  time.  My  nerves  had 
been  braced  in  the  Alps,  my  mind  had  been  calmed  and 
refreshed  by  the  warm  blue  Mediterranean,  my  sense  of  com 
parison  emphasized  in  Egypt,  where  I  perceived  anew  the  law 
of  mutability,  the  inevitable  law,  by  the  decree  of  which  the 
human  race  is  eternal,  while  we,  its  constituent  atoms,  have 
but  a  moment  of  intensity  to  blaze  and  burn  out.  Perishable 
life  and  permanent  matter  are  we,  with  a  limit  that  may  be 
prolonged  in  idea  by  such  circumstances  as  we  can  dwell  on 
with  delight,  one  love-lit  day  being  longer  in  the  record 
than  whole  monotonous  years.  It  is  good  to  live  and  love, 
but  if  we  possess  the  burden  of  life  unrelieved  by  the  blessing 
of  love,  or  the  hope  of  it,  well — why  despair  ?  Man  is  matter 
animated  by  a  series  of  emotions,  the  majority  of  which  are 
pleasurable.  Disappointment  ends  like  success,  and  the  futile 
dust  of  nations  offers  itself  in  evidence  of  the  vanity  of  all 
attributes  except  wisdom,  the  wisdom  that  teaches  us  to  accept 
the  inevitable  silently,  and  endure  our  moment  with  equally 
undemonstrative  acquiescence,  whether  it  comes  full  fraught 
with  the  luxury  of  living,  or  only  brings  us  that  which  causes 
us  to  contemplate  of  necessity,  and  without  shrinking,  the 
crowning  dignity  of  death. 

I  had  come  back  ready  for  work,  and  could  have  cheerfully 
dispensed  with  that  week's  delay  in  London  ;  but  I  had 
promised  it  to  an  old  friend,  in  failing  health,  whom  I  would 
not  disappoint. 

The  people  at  Morne,  the  Kilroys,  the  Hamilton-Wellses, 
the  Colquhouns,  all  my  circle  of  intimate  friends,  had  fallen 
into  the  background  of  my  recollection  during  my  tour 
abroad  ;  but,  now  again,  when  I  found  myself  so  near  them. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  615 

the  old  habitual  interests  began  to  be  dominant.  I  had  sent 
notes  to  apologize  for  not  wishing  them  good-bye  before  my 
sudden  departure,  but  I  had  not  written  to  any  of  them  or 
heard  from  them  during  my  absence,  and  did  not  know  where 
they  might  all  be  at  the  moment  ;  and  I  was  just  wondering  one 
night  as  I  walked  toward  Piccadilly  from  the  direction  of  the 
Strand — I  was  just  wondering  if  they  were  all  as  I  had  left 
them,  if  the  civil  war,  as  Angelica  called  it,  was  being  waged 
as  actively  as  ever  between  herself  and  Evadne  upon  the  all- 
important  point — and  that  made  me  think  of  Evadne  herself. 
I  had  banished  her  name  from  my  mind  for  weeks,  but  now 
some  inexplicable  trick  of  the  brain  suddenly  set  her  before 
me  as  I  oftenest  saw  her,  sitting  at  work  in  the  wide  west 
window  overlooking  the  road,  and  glancing  up  brightly  at  the 
sound  of  my  horse's  hoofs  or  carriage  wheels  as  I  rode  or 
drove  past,  to  salute  me.  A  lady  might  wait  and  watch  so  at 
accustomed  hours  for  her  lover  ;  but  he  would  stop,  and  she 
would  open  the  window,  and  lean  out  with  a  flower  in  her 
hand  for  him,  and  perhaps  she  would  kiss  it  before  she  tossed 
it  to  him,  and  he  would  catch  it  and  go  on  his  way  rejoicing 
— a  pretty  poetical  dream  and  easy  of  fulfilment,  if  only  one 
could  find  the  lady,  suitably  circumstanced. 

I  had  arrived  at  Piccadilly  Circus  by  this  time,  at  the  turn 
into  Regent  Street  where  the  omnibuses  stop,  and  was  delayed 
for  a  moment  or  two  by  the  casual  crowd  of  loiterers  and 
people  struggling  for  places,  and  by  those  who  were  alighting 
from  the  various  vehicles.  Not  being  in  any  hurry  myself,  it 
amused  me  to  observe  the  turmoil,  the  play  of  human  emotion 
which  appeared  distinctly  on  the  faces  of  those  who  ap 
proached  me  and  were  lost  to  sight  again  as  soon  as  seen  in 
the  eddy  and  whirl  of  the  crowd.  There  was  temper  here, 
and  tenderness  there  ;  this  person  was  steadily  bent  on  busi- 
uess,  that  on  pleasure,  and  one  fussy  little  man  escorting  his 
family  somewhere  was  making  the  former  of  the  latter. 
There  were  two  young  lovers  alone  with  their  love  so  far  as 
any  outward  consciousness  of  the  crowd  was  concerned  ;  and 
there  was  a  young  wife  silent  and  sad  beside  a  neglectful 
elderly  husband.  It  was  the  'buses  from  the  west  end  I  was 
watching.  One  had  just  moved  off  toward  the  Strand,  and 
another  pulled  up  in  its  place,  and  the  people  began  to  alight 
—a  fat  man  first  in  a  frenzy  of  haste,  a  sallow  priest  whose 
soul  seemed  to  sicken  at  the  sight  of  the  seething  mass  of 
humanity  amongst  which  he  found  himself,  for  he  hesitated  per- 


6x6  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

ceptibly  on  the  step,  like  a  child  in  a  bathing  machine  who 
shrinks  from  the  water,  before  he  descended  and  was  engulfed 
in  the  crowd.  A  musician  with  his  instrument  in  a  case,  two 
fat  women  talking  to  each  other,  a  little  Cockney  work-girl, 
and  her  young  man,  and  then — a  lady.  There  could  be  no 
mistake  about  her  social  status.  The  conductor,  standing  by 
the  step,  recognized  it  at  once,  and  held  out  his  arm  to  assist 
her.  The  gaslight  flared  full  upon  her  face,  the  expression 
of  which  was  somewhat  set.  She  wore  no  veil,  and  if  she  did 
not  court  observation,  she  certainly  did  not  shun  it.  She  was 
quietly  but  richly  dressed,  and  had  one  seen  her  there  on  foot 
in  the  morning,  one  would  have  surmised  that  she  was  out 
shopping,  and  looked  for  the  carriage  which  would  probably 
have  been  following  her  ;  but  a  lady,  striking  in  appearance 
and  of  distinguished  bearing,  alighted  composedly  from  an 
omnibus  at  Piccadilly  Circus  between  nine  and  ten  at  night, 
and  calmly  taking  her  way  alone  up  Regent  Street  was  a  sight 
which  would  have  struck  one  as  being  anomalous  even  if  she 
had  been  a  stranger.  But  this  lady  was  no  stranger  to  me. 
I  should  have  recognized  her  figure  and  carriage  had  her 
countenance  been  concealed.  I  had  turned  hot  and  cold  at 
the  first  foreshadowing  of  her  presence,  and  would  fain  have 
found  myself  mistaken,  but  there  was  no  possibility  of  a 
doubt.  She  passed  me  without  haste,  and  so  close  that 
I  could  have  laid  my  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  But  I  let  her 
go  in  sheer  astonishment.  What,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is 
inexplicable,  was  Evadne  doing  there  alone  at  that  time  of 
night?  Such  a  proceeding  was  hardly  decent,  whatever  her 
excuse,  and  it  was  certainly  not  safe.  This  last  reflection 
aroused  me,  and  I  started  instantly  to  follow  her,  intending  to 
overtake  her,  and  impose  my  escort  upon  her.  She  was  out 
of  sight,  because  she  had  turned  the  corner,  but  she  could  not 
have  gone  far,  and  I  hurried  headlong  after  her,  nearly  upset 
ting  a  man  who  met  me  face  to  face  as  I  doubled  into  Regent 
Street.  It  was  Colonel  Colquhoun  himself,  in  a  joyful  mood 
evidently,  and  for  once  I  could  have  blessed  his  blinding 
potations.  He  recognized  me,  but  had  apparently  passed 
Evadne. 

"  Ah,  me  boy,  you  here  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  an  assump 
tion  of  facetious  bonhomie  particularly  distasteful  to  me.  "  All 
the  world  lives  in  London,  I  think  !  It's  where  you'll  always 
come  across  anyone  you  want.  Sly  dog  !  Following  a  lady, 
I'll  be  bound  !  By  Jove  !  I  wouldn't  have  thought  it  of 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  617 

you,  Galbraith  !  But  you'll  not  find  anything  choice  in  Regent 
Street.  Come  with  me,  and  I'll  introduce  you " 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  interrupted,  and  hurried  away  from  the 
brute.  How  had  he  missed  Evadne  ?  Perhaps  he  was  look 
ing  the  other  way.  But  what  a  position  for  her  to  be  in. 
Supposing  he  had  recognized  her,  my  being  so  close  would 
have  made  it  none  the  better  for  her.  And  could  I  be  sure 
that  he  had  not  seen  her  ?  I  did  not  think  he  was  the  kind 
of  man,  with  all  his  faults,  to  lay  a  trap  even  for  an  enemy 
whom  he  suspected;  but,  still,  one  never  knows. 

Evadne  was  far  ahead  by  this  time,  but  the  places  of  amuse 
ment  were  still  open,  and  therefore  there  were  few  people  in 
Regent  Street.  It  is  not  particularly  well  lighted,  but  I  was 
soon  near  enough  to  make  her  out  by  her  graceful  dignified 
carriage,  which  contrasted  markedly  with  that  of  every  other 
woman  and  girl  I  saw.  In  any  other  place  her  bearing  would 
have  struck  me  as  that  of  a  person  accustomed  to  considera 
tion,  even  if  I  had  not  known  her;  but  here,  judging  by  the 
confident  way  she  held  her  head  up,  I  should  have  been  in 
clined  to  set  her  down  either  as  a  most  abandoned  person,  or 
as  one  who  was  quite  unconscious  of  anything  peculiar  in 
her  present  proceedings.  In  another  respect,  too,  she  was 
very  unlike  the  women  and  girls  who  were  loitering  about  the 
street,  peering  up  anxiously  into  the  face  of  every  man  they 
met.  Evadne  seemed  to  see  no  one,  and  passed  on  her  way, 
superbly  indifferent  to  any  attention  she  might  be  attracting. 
The  distance  between  us  had  lessened  considerably,  and  I 
could  now  have  overtaken  her  easily,  but  I  hesitated.  I  could 
not  decide  whether  it  would  be  better  to  join  her,  or  merely 
to  keep  her  in  sight  for  her  own  safety.  I  was  inclined  to 
blame  her  severely  for  her  recklessness.  She  had  already 
passed  her  husband,  and  might  meet  half  the  depot,  or  be 
recognized  by  Heaven  knows  who,  before  she  got  to  the  top 
of  the  street;  and,  as  it  was,  she  was  attracting  considerable 
attention.  Scarcely  a  man  met  her  who  did  not  turn  when  he 
had  passed,  and  look  after  her;  and  anyone  of  these  might  be 
an  acquaintance.  My  impulse  had  been  to  insist  upon  her  get 
ting  into  a  hansom,  and  allowing  me  to  see  her  safe  home;  but 
it  had  occurred  to  me,  upon  reflection,  that  I  might  com 
promise  her  more  fatally  by  being  seen  with  her  under  such 
circumstances  than  could  happen  if  she  went  alone. 

While  I  hesitated,  a  tall  thin  man  with  a  gray  beard,  whom 
I  thought  I  recognized  from  photographs  seen  in  shop  windows, 


618  THE  HEAVEXLY  TWINS. 

met  her,  stared  hard  as  he  passed,  stood  a  minute  looking 
after  her,  and  then  turned  and  followed  her.  If  he  were  the 
man  I  took  him  to  be,  he  would  probably  know  her,  and  my 
first  impression  was  that  he  did  so,  and  had  recognised  her, 
and  been,  like  myself,  too  astonished  to  speak.  If  so,  he 
quickly  recovered  himself,  and,  as  he  evidently  intended  to  ad 
dress  her  now,  I  was  half  inclined  to  resign  my  responsibility 
to  him.  Then  I  thought  that  if  I  joined  her  also  nothing 
could  be  said.  Two  men  of  known  repute  may  escort  a  lady 
anywhere  and  at  any  time.  I  quickened  my  steps,  but  pur 
posely  let  him  speak  first. 

Coming  up  with  her  from  behind,  he  began  in  a  tone  which 
was  more  caressing  than  respectful.  "  It  is  a  fine  night,"  he 
said. 

Evadne  started  visibly,  looked  at  him,  and  shrank  two  steps 
away ;  but  she  answered,  in  a  voice  which  I  could  hardly 
recognise  as  hers,  it  was  so  high  and  strident :  "  I  should 
call  it  a  chilly  night,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  yes,  perhaps,"  he  answered,  "  for  the  time  of  the 
year.  Are  you  going  for  a  walk  ?" 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  looking  doubtfully  on  ahead. 

She  was  walking  at  a  pretty  rapid  rate  as  it  was,  and  her 
elderly  interlocutor  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  up  with  her. 

"Perhaps  if  we  turned  down  one  of  these  side  streets  to 
the  left,  it  would  be  quieter,  and  we  could  talk,"  he  suggested. 

"  I  don't  think  I  want  either  to  be  quiet  or  to  talk,"  she 
said,  suddenly  recovering  her  natural  voice  and  tone. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want,  then  ? "  he  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  slackened  her  speed.  "  Perhaps, 
since  you  are  so  good  as  to  trouble  yourself  about  me  at  all," 
she  said,  "  I  may  venture  to  ask  if  you  will  kindly  tell  me 
where  in  London  I  am  ?  " 

His  manner  instantly  changed.  "  You  are  in  Regent 
Street,"  he  answered. 

"And  that  lighted  place  behind  us,  where  the  crowd  is— 
what  is  that  ?" 

"  You  must  mean  Piccadilly  Circus.n 

'  And  if  I  walk  on  what  shall  I  come  to  ? " 

"  Oxford  Street.  You  don't  seem  to  know  London.  Don't 
you  live  here  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  live  in  London."    * 

"You  have  lost  your  way,  perhaps;  can  I  direct  you  any 
where  ?  " 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  619 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  answered.  "  I  can  get  into  a  hansom 
you  know,  when  I  am  tired  of  this." 

u  If  I  might  venture  to  advise,  I  should  say  do  so  at  once," 
he  rejoined,  slightly  raising  his  hat  as  he  spoke,  and  then  he 
slipped  behind  her,  and  furtively  hurried  across  the  street,  a 
considerably  perplexed  man,  I  fancied,  and,  judging  by  the 
way  he  peered  to  right  and  left  as  he  went,  one  who  was  suf 
fering  from  some  sudden  dislike  to  being  recognised. 

Eyadne  paid  as  little  heed  to  his  departure  as  she  had  done 
to  his  approach.  A  few  steps  farther  brought  her  to  a  stand 
of  hansom  cabs.  She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  got  into 
one.  I  took  the  next,  and  directed  the  driver  to  follow  her, 
being  determined  either  to  see  her  back  to  her  friends,  or  to 
interfere  if  I  found  that  she  meant  to  continue  her  ramble. 
Her  driver  struck  into  Piccadilly  at  the  next  turn,  and  then 
drove  steadily  west  for  about  half  an  hour.  By  that  time  we 
had  come  to  a  row  of  handsome  houses,  at  one  of  which  he 
stopped,  and  my  man  stoped  also  at  an  intelligent  distance 
behind,  but  Evadne  never  looked  back.  She  got  out  and  as 
cended  the  steps  with  the  leisurely  air  peculiar  to  her.  The 
door  was  opened  as  soon  as  she  rang,  and  she  entered.  A 
moment  later  a  footman  came  out  on  to  the  pavement  and 
paid  the  driver,  with  whom  he  exchanged  a  remark  or  two. 
As  he  returned,  the  light  from  the  hall  streamed  out  upon 
him,  and  I  saw,  with  a  sense  of  relief  which  made  me  realise 
what  the  previous  tension  had  been,  that  he  wore  the  Hamil 
ton-Wells  livery,  and  then  I  recognised  the  Hamilton-Wells' 
town  house.  The  driver  of  the  now  empty  hansom  turned 
his  horse,  and  walked  him  slowly  back  in  the  direction  from 
which  he  had  come.  The  incident  was  over;  but  what  did  it 
all  mean  ?  The  whole  thing  seemed  so  purposeless.  What 
had  taken  her  out  at  all  ?  Was  it  some  jealous  freak  ?  Women 
have  confessed  to  me  that  they  watch  their  husbands  habitually. 
One  said  she  did  it  for  love  of  excitement  :  there  was  always  a 
risk  of  being  caught,  and  nothing  else  ever  amused  her  half  so 
much.  Another  declared  she  did  it  because  she  could  not 
afford  to  employ  a  private  detective,  and  she  wanted  to  have 
evidence  always  ready  in  case  it  should  suit  her  to  part  from 
her  husband  at  any  time.  Another  said  she  loved  her  hus 
band,  and  it  hurt  her  less  to  know  than  to  suspect.  But  I  could 
not  really  believe  that  Evadne  would  do  such  a  thing  for  any 
reason  whatever.  She  was  fearlessly  upright  and  honest  about 
her  actions;  and  her  self-respect  would  have  restrained  her  if 


620  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

ever  an  isolated  impulse  had  impelled  her  to  such  a  proceed 
ing.  But  still 

"  Will  you  wait  until  the  lady  returns,  sir  ? "  the  driver 
asked  at  last,  peeping  down  upon  me  through  the  trap  in  the 
roof.  If  he  had  not  spoken  I  might  have  sat  there  half  the 
night,  puzzling  out  the  problem.  Now,  however,  that  he  had 
roused  me,  I  determined  to  leave  it  for  the  present.  I  remem 
bered  my  duty  to  the  friend  with  whom  1  was  staying,  and 
hurried  back,  resolving  to  go  to  Evadne  herself  next  day,  and 
ask  her  point  blank  to  explain.  I  believed  she  would  do  so, 
for  in  all  that  concerned  her  own  pursuits— the  doings  of  the 
day — I  had  always  found  her  almost  curiously  frank.  After 
this  wise  determination,  I  ought  to  have  been  philosopher 
enough  to  sleep  upon  the  matter,  but  her  ladyship's  escapade 
cost  me  my  night's  rest,  and  took  me  to  her  early  next  morn 
ing,  in  an  angry  and  irritable  mood. 

I  sent  up  my  card,  and  Evadne  received  me  at  once  in  Lady 
Adeline's  boudoir. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  she  said.  "  How  did 
you  know  I  was  in  town  ? " 

"  I  saw  you  in  Regent  Street  last  night,"  I  answered  bluntly. 
"  What  were  you  doing  there  ? " 

"  What  were  you  doing  there  yourself  ?  "  she  said. 

The  question  took  me  aback  completely,  and  the  more  so  as 
it  was  asked  with  an  unmistakable  flash  of  merriment. 

44  Answer  me  my  question  first,"  1  said.  "You  could  have 
no  business  out  alone  in  London  at  that  time  of  night,  laying 
yourself  open  to  insult." 

"  I  don't  recognise  your  right  to  question  me  at  all,"  she 
answered,  unabashed. 

"  I  have  the  right  of  any  gentleman  who  does  his  duty  when 
he  sees  a  lady  making " 

"A  fool  of  herself?  Thanks,"  she  said,  laughing.  "The 
privilege  of  protecting  a  woman,  of  saving  her  even  in  spite 
of  herself  from  the  effects  of  her  own  indiscretion,  is  one  of 
which  a  man  seldom  avails  himself,  and  I  did  not  understand 
you  at  first.  Excuse  me.  But  how  do  you  know  I  could  have 
no  business  out  at  that  time  of  night  ?  Do  you  imagine  that 
you  know  all  my  duties  in  life  ?" 

I  was  bewildered  by  her  confidence — by  her  levity,  I  may 
say,  but  I  persisted. 

"I  cannot  believe  that  you  had  any  business  or  duty  which 
necessitated  your  being  in  a  disreputable  part  of  London  alone 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  621 

iate  at  night,"  I  said.  "  But  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  the 
right  of  an  intimate  friend  to  warn  you  if  you  run  risks — in 
your  ignorance." 

"  Or  to  reprove  me  if  I  do  so  with  my  eyes  open  ? "  she 
suggested. 

"  To  ask  for  an  explanation,  at  all  events,  if  I  do  not  under 
stand  what  your  motive  could  be." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said.  u  You  want  me  to  excuse 
myself  if  I  can,  otherwise  you  will  be  forced  to  suspect  some 
thing  unjustifiable." 

"  That  is  the  literal  truth,"  I  answered. 

She  laughed.  "  But  you  have  not  answered  my  question," 
she  said.  "  What  were  you  doing  there  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  had  been  dining  at  the  Charing  Cross  Hotel  with  a  friend 
who  had  just  returned  from  India,"  I  told  her,  "  and  I  was 
walking  back  to  the  house  of  the  friend  with  whom  I  am 
staying.  He  lives  in  a  street  off  Piccadilly." 

"  But  what  were  you  doing  in  Regent  Street  ?" 

"  Following  you." 

She  laughed  again.  "  Did  you  see  that  old  man  spe^k  to 
me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Horrid  old  creature,  is  he  not  ?  He  gave  me  such  a  start ! 
Did  you  recognise  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  did  not  at  first,  but  when  I  did,  I  thought  I  would  make 
him  useful."  She  meditated  for  a  little,  then  she  said  :  "  It 
did  me  good." 

"  What  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  start,"  she  replied.  "  It  quite  roused  me.  But, 
now,  tell  me.  I  should  never  have  supposed  that  you  had  no 
business  anywhere  at  any  time  ;  why  are  you  not  equally 
charitable?" 

I  was  silent. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  think  took  me  there  ?  " 

"  An  unholy  curiosity,"  I  blurted  out. 

"  That  is  an  unholy  inspiration  which  has  only  just 
occurred  to  you,  and  you  cannot  entertain  the  suspicion  for  a 
moment,"  she  said. 

This  was  true. 

"  But,  after  all,"  she  pursued,  "  what  business  have  you  t« 
take  me  to  task  like  this?  It  is  not  a  professional  matter." 

" I  don't  know  that,"  I  answered.     This  was  another  mspi- 


622  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

ration,  and  it  disconcerted  her,  for  she  changed  counte 
nance. 

"  You  have  a  nice  opinion  of  me  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  have  the  highest  opinion  of  you,"  I  answered,  "  and  no 
body  knows  that  better  than  yourself.  But  what  am  I  to  think 
when  I  find  you  acting  without  any  discretion  whatever  ?  " 

"  Think  that  I  am  at  the  mercy  of  every  wayward  impulse." 

"  But  I  know  that  you  are  not,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  I  am 
unhappy  about  you.  Will  you  trust  me  ?  Will  you  explain  ? 
Will  you  let  me  help  you  if  I  can  ?  I  believe  there  is  some 
trouble  at  the  bottom  of  this  business.  Do  tell  me  all  about 
it?" 

"  Well,  I  will  explain,"  she  said,  still  laughing.  "  I  was 
driving  past,  and  seeing  you  there,  I  thought  I  would  horrify 
you,  so  I  stopped  the  carriage " 

"  You  got  out  of  an  omnibus  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  that  was  my  carriage  for  the  time  being,"  she 
answered,  in  no  way  disconcerted.  "  You  do  not  expect  me  to 
own  that  I  was  in  an  omnibus,  do  you  ?  " 

"I  wish  you  would  be  serious  for  a  moment,"  I  remon 
strated.  "  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  the  truth." 

"  As  I  always  do  tell  the  truth  if  I  tell  anything,  I  think  we 
had  better  let  the  subject  drop,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  as  if  she 
were  tired  of  it. 

"  You  mean  you  cannot  tell  me? " 

"That  is  what  I  mean." 

I  reflected  for  a  moment.  "  Does  Lady  Adeline  know  that 
you  were  out  last  night  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  She  was  out  herself  and  I  returned 
before  she  did. 

"  Then  you  have  not  told  her  either  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  would  really  rather  you  confided  in  her  than  in  me,  if 
you  can." 

"  Thank  yon,"  she  answered  drily. 

"  Can  you  ?"  I  persisted. 

*  No,  I  cannot,"  was  the  positive  rejoinder. 

I  rose  to  go.  "Forgive  my  officiousness,"  I  said.  "I  ven 
tured  to  hope  you  would  make  use  of  me,  but  I  am  afraid  I 
have  been  forcing  my  services  upon  you  too  persistently." 

She  rose  impulsively,  and  held  out  both  hands  to  me.  "  I 
wish  I  could  thank  you,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  me  frankly 
and  affectionately.  "I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  much  I 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  623 

appreciate  your  goodness  to  me,  and  all  your  disinterested 
ness.  I  wish  I  deserved  it  !  "  She  clasped  my  hands  warmly 
as  she  spoke,  then  dropped  them  ;  and  instantly  I  became 
conscious  of  an  indescribable  sense  of  relief  ;  and  prepared  to 
depart  at  once ;  but  she  stopped  me  again  with  a  word  as  I 
opened  the  door. 

"  Dr.  Galbraith,"  she  began,  with  another  flash  of  merri 
ment,  "tell  me,  you  were  horrified,  now,  were  you  not?" 

I  jammed  my  hat  on  my  head  and  left  her.  I  did  not  mean 
to  slam  the  door,  but  her  levity  had  annoyed  me.  I  fancied 
her  laughing  as  I  descended  the  stairs,  and  wondered  at  her 
mood,  and  yet  I  was  re-assured  by  it.  She  would  not  have 
been  so  merry  if  there  had  been  anything  really  wrong,  and  it 
was  just  possible  that  the  half  explanation  she  had  given  me 
and  withdrawn  was  the  true  one.  She  might  have  been  in  an 
omnibus  for  once  for  some  quite  legitimate  reason,  and  while 
it  waited  at  Piccadilly  Circus  she  might  have  seen  me  as  she 
had  described,  and  got  out  in  a  moment  of  mischief  to  aston 
ish  me.  If  that  were  her  object,  she  had  certainly  suc 
ceeded,  and  it  seemed  to  me  more  likely  than  that  she  should 
just  have  gone  and  returned  for  the  sake  of  doing  an  unusual 
thing,  which  was  the  only  other  explanation  that  occurred  to 
me. 

I  saw  Lady  Adeline  before  I  left  the  house,  and  found  that 
Colonel  Colquhoun  was  not  staying  with  them,  nor  did  she 
seem  to  know  that  he  had  been  in  town. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  CRUEL  misfortune  robbed  me  of  a  near  relation  at  this 
A\  time,  and  added  the  rank  of  baronet,  with  a  considerable 
increase  of  fortune,  to  my  other  responsibilities.  The  increase 
of  fortune  was  welcome  in  one  way,  as  it  enabled  me  to 
enlarge  a  small  private  hospital  which  I  had  established  on  my 
Fountain  Towers  estate,  for  the  benefit  of  poor  patients. 
Attending  to  these,  and  to  the  buildings  which  were  at  once 
put  in  progress,  was  the  one  absorbing  interest  of  my  li 

that  time.  , 

During  the  next  three  months  I  only  called  once  on  kvad 
and  that  was  a  mere  formal  visit  which  I  felt  in  duty  bound 
to  pay  her.     I  did  not  drive  past  the  house,  either,  oftener 
I  could  help,  but  when  I  was  obliged  to  go  that  way  \ 


624  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

saw  her,  sitting  sewing  in  her  accustomed  place,  and  she 
would  smile  and  bow  to  me— brightly  at  first,  but  after  a  time 
with  a  wistful,  weary  expression,  or  I  fancied  so.  It  was  of 
necessity  a  hurried  glimpse  that  I  had,  although  my  horse 
would  slacken  his  speed  of  his  own  accord  as  we  approached 
the  holly  hedge  that  bounded  her  bower  ;  but  I  began  to  be 
uneasily  aware  of  a  change  in  her  appearance.  I  might  be 
mistaken,  but  I  certainly  thought  her  eyes  looked  unnaturally 
large,  as  if  her  cheeks  had  fallen  away,  and  the  little  patient 
face  was  paler.  In  the  early  summer,  when  she  was  well,  she 
had  been  wont  to  flush  upon  the  least  occasion,  but  now  her 
colour  did  not  vary,  and  I  suspected  that  she  was  again  shut 
ting  herself  up  too  much.  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  at  Fraylingay, 
Diavolo  was  keeping  his  grandfather  company  at  Morne,  the 
Kilroys  were  in  town,  the  Hamilton-Wellses  had  gone  to 
Egypt,  and  Colonel  Colquhoun  had  taken  two  months'  leave 
and  gone  abroad  also,  so  that  she  had  no  one  near  her  for 
whom  she  had  any  special  regard.  Colonel  Colquhoun  had 
called  on  me  before  he  left,  and  told  me  he  was  sure  Evadne 
would  hope  to  see  a  good  deal  of  me  during  his  absence,  and 
he  wished  I  would  look  after  her — professionally,  I  inferred, 
and  of  course  I  was  always  prepared  to  do  so.  But,  so  far, 
she  had  not  required  my  services,  happily,  and  for  the  rest- 
well,  my  time  was  fully  occupied,  and  I  found  it  did  not  suit 
me  to  go  to  As-You-Like-It.  When  I  noticed  the  change  in 
her  appearance,  however,  I  began  to  think  I  would  look  in 
some  day,  just  to  see  how  she  really  was,  but  before  I  could 
carry  out  the  half  formed  intention  she  came  to  me.  It  was 
during  my  consulting  hours,  and  I  was  sitting  at  my  writing 
table,  seeing  my  patients  in  rotation,  when  her  name  was 
announced.  She  sauntered  in  in  her  usual  leisurely  way, 
shook  hands  with  me,  and  then  subsided  into  the  easy-chair  on 
my  right,  which  was  placed  facing  the  window  for  my  patients 
to  occupy. 

"  I  have  a  cold,"  she  said,  "  and  a  pain  under  my  right  cla 
vicle,  and  the  posterior  lobe  of  my  brain — oh,  dear,  I  have  for 
gotten  it  all  !  "  she  broke  off,  laughing.  "  How  shall  I  make 
you  understand  ? " 

"  You  are  in  excellent  spirits,"  I  observed,  "  if  you  are  not 
in  very  good  health." 

"  No,  believe  me,"  she  answered.  "  The  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  again  enlivened  me  for  a  moment ;  but  I  am  really  rather 
down." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  625 

I  had  been  considering  her  attentively  from  a  professional 
point  of  view  while  she  was  speaking,  and  saw  that  this  was 
true.  The  brightness  which  animated  her  when  she  entered 
faded  immediately,  and  then  I  saw  that  her  face  was  thin  and 
pale  and  anxious  in  expression.  Her  eyes  wandered  some 
what  restlessly  ;  her  attitude  betokened  weakness.  She  had 
a  little  worrying  cough,  and  her  pulse  was  unequal. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  lately  ? "  I  asked, 
turning  to  my  writing  table  and  taking  up  a  pen,  when  I  had 
ascertained  this  last  fact. 

"  Dreaming,"  she  said. 

The  answer  struck  me.  "  Dreaming,"  I  repeated  to  my 
self,  and  then  aloud  to  her,  while  I  affected  to  write. 
"  Dreaming  ?  "  I  said.  "  What  about,  for  example  ? " 

"  Oh  !  the  Arabian  Nights,  the  whole  thousand  and  one  of 
them,  would  not  be  long  enough  to  tell  you,"  she  replied.  "  I 
think  my  dreams  have  lasted  longer  already." 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  day-dreams  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  imagine  things  as  you  sit  at  work,  perhaps  !  " 

"Yes."  She  spoke  languidly,  and  evidently  attached  no 
special  significance  either  to  my  questions  or  her  own  answers, 
which  was  what  I  wished.  "  Yes,  that  is  my  best  time.  While 
I  work,  I  live  in  a  world  of  my  own  creating  ;  in  a  beauti 
ful  happy  dream— at  least  it  was  so  once,"  she  added,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  I  have  heard  you  say  you  did  not  care  to  read  fiction. 
You  prefer  to  make  your  own  stories,  is  that  the  reason  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  never  thought  of  it 
before." 

"  And  you  never  write  these  imaginings  ? 

"  Oh,  no  !     That  would  be  impossible.     It  is  in  the  tones  of 
voices  as  I  hear  them  ;  in  the  expression  of  faces  as  I  see 
them-  in  the  subtle,  indescribable  perception  of  the  sigmfi 
cance  of  events,  and  their  intimate  relation  to  each  other  and 
influence  on  the  lives  of   my  dream  friends  that  the  whol 
charm  lies.     Such  impressions  are  too  delicate  for  reproc 
tion  even  if  I  had  the  mind  to  try.     Describing  them  would 
be  as  coarse  a  proceeding  as  eating  a  flower  after  n 

PC«  Did 'l  understand  you  to  say  that  this  is  the  habit  of  years  ? 
Has  your  inner  life  been  composed  of  dreams  ever  since  you 
were  a  child  ? " 


626  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  I  don't  think  as  a  child  I  was  at  all 
imaginative.  I  liked  to  learn,  and  when  I  was  not  learning  I 
lived  an  active,  outdoor  life." 

"  Ah  !  Then  you  have  acquired  the  habit  since  you  grew 
up  ? " 

"  Yes.  It  came  on  by  degrees.  I  used  to  think  of  how 
things  might  be  different ;  that  was  the  way  it  began.  I  tried 
to  work  out  schemes  of  life  in  my  head,  as  I  would  do  a  game 
of  chess ;  not  schemes  of  life  for  myself,  you  know,  but  such 
as  should  save  other  people  from  being  very  miserable.  I 
wanted  to  do  some  good  in  the  world," — she  paused  here  to 
choose  her  words — u  and  that  kind  of  thought  naturally  re 
solves  itself  into  action,  but  before  the  impulse  to  act  came 
upon  me  I  had  made  it  impossible  for  myself  to  do  anything, 
so  that  when  it  came  I  was  obliged  to  resist  it,  and  then,  in 
stead  of  reading  and  reflecting,  I  took  to  sewing  for  a  sedative, 
and  turned  the  trick  of  thinking  how  things  might  be  different 
into  another  channel." 

She  was  unconsciousiy  telling  me  the  history  of  her  married 
life,  showing  me  a  lonely  woman  gradually  losing  her  mental 
health  for  want  of  active  occupation  and  a  wholesome  share 
of  the  work  of  the  world  to  take  her  out  of  herself.  To  a 
certain  extent,  then,  I  had  been  right  in  my  judgment  of  her 
character.  Her  disposition  was  practical,  not  contemplative  ; 
but  she  had  been  forced  into  the  latter  attitude,  and  the  con 
sequence  was,  perhaps— well,  it  might  be  a  diseased  state  of 
the  mind  ;  but  that  I  had  yet  to  ascertain. 

"And  are  you  happy  in  your  dreams?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  was,"  she  said  ;  "  but  my  dreams  are  not  what  they  used  to 
be." 

"  How  ?  "  I  asked. 

*  At  first  they  were  pleasant,"  she  answered.  "  When  I  sat 
alone  at  work,  it  was  my  happiest  time.  I  was  master  of  my 
dreams  then,  and  let  none  but  pleasant  shapes  present  them 
selves.  But  by  degrees— I  don't  know  how— I  began  to  be 
intoxicated.  My  imagination  ran  away  with  me.  Instead  of 
indulging  in  a  daydream  now  and  then,  when  I  liked,  all  my 
life  became  absorbed  in  delicious  imaginings,  whether  I  would 
or  not.  Working,  walking,  driving ;  in  church  ;  anywhere 
and  at  any  time,  when  I  could  be  alone  a  moment,  I  lived  in 
my  world  apart.  If  people  spoke  to  me,  I  awoke  and 
answered  them  ;  but  real  life  was  a  dull  thing  to  offer,  and  the 
t  very  dim,  compared  with  the  movement  and  bright- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  627 

ness  of  the  land  I  lived  in — while  I  was  master  of  my 
dreams." 

"  Then  you  did  not  remain  master  of  them  always  ?  " 

"  No.  By  degrees  they  mastered  me  ;  and  now  I  am  their 
puppet,  and  they  are  demons  that  torment  me.  When  I  awake 
in  the  morning,  I  wonder  what  the  haunting  thought  for  the 
day  will  be ;  and  before  I  have  finished  dressing  it  is  upon 
me  as  a  rule.  At  first  it  was  not  incessant,  but  now  the 
trouble  in  my  head  is  awful." 

I  thought  so  !  But  she  had  said  enough  for  the  present. 
The  confession  was  ingenuously  made,  and  evidently  without 
intention.  I  merely  asked  a  few  more  questions  about 
her  general  health,  and  then  sent  her  home  to  nurse  her  cold, 
promising  to  call  and  see  how  it  was  the  next  day. 

When  I  opened  my  case  book  to  make  a  note  of  her  visit  and 
a  brief  summary  of  the  symptoms  she  had  described  and  be 
trayed,  I  hesitated  a  moment  about  the  diagnosis,  and  finally 
decided  to  write  provisionally  for  my  guidance,  or  rather  by 
way  of  prognosis,  the  one  word,  "  Hysteria  !  " 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

NEXT  day  I  found  that  Evadne's  cold  was  decidedly  worse, 
and  as  the  weather  was  severe  I  ordered  her  to  stay  in  her 
own  rooms. 

"  Am  I  going  to  be  ill  ? "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  pooh-poohing  the  notion. 

"  Doctor,  you  dash  my  hopes  !  "  she  said.  "  I  am  always 
happy  when  I  am  ill.  It  is  such  a  relief." 

I  had  heard  her  use  the  phrase  twice  before,  but  it  was  only 
now  that  I  saw  her  meaning.  Physical  suffering  was  evidently 
a  relief  from  the  mental  misery,  and  this  proved  that  the  trouble 
was  of  longer  standing  than  I  had  at  first  suspected.  She  had 
used  the  same  expression,  I  remembered,  when  I  first  attended 
her,  during  that  severe  attack  of  pneumonia. 

Colonel  Colquhoun  had  returned,  she  told  me,  but  I  did  not 
see  him  that  day,  as  he  was  out.  Next  morning,  however  I 
came  earlier  on  purpose,  and  encountered  him  in  the  hall, 
was  not  in  uniform,  I  was  thankful  to  see,  for  he  was  very  apt 
to  assume  his  orderly  room  manners  therewith,  and  they  were 
decidedly  objectionable  to  the  average  civilian,  whatever  mill 
tary  men  might  think  of  them. 


628  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

"  Ah,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  he  said.  "  So  you've  been  having 
honours  thrust  upon  you  ?  Well,  I  congratulate  you,  I'm  sure, 
sincerely,  in  so  far  as  they  are  a  pleasure  to  you  ;  but  I 
condole  with  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  your 
loss.  I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Colquhoun  is  giving  you  more  trouble. 
Now,  don't  say  the  trouble's  a  pleasure,  for  I'll  not  believe  a 
word  of  it,  with  all  you  have  to  occupy  you." 

"  It  is  no  pleasure  to  see  her  ill,"  I  answered.  "  How  is  she 
to-day  ? " 

"  On  my  word  I  can't  tell  you,  because  I  haven't  seen  her. 
I  haven't  the  entree  to  her  private  apartments.  But  come  and 
see  my  new  horse,"  he  broke  off — he  was  in  an  exceedingly 
good  humour — "  I  goUiim  in  Ireland,  and  I'm  inclined  to  think 
him  a  beauty,  but  I'd'like  to  have  your  opinion.  It's  worth 
having." 

The  horse  was  like  Colonel  Colquhoun  himself,  showy  ;  one 
of  those  high  steppers  that  put  their  feet  down  where  they  lift 
them  up  almost,  and  get  over  no  ground  at  all  to  speak  of. 
Having  occupied,  without  compunction,  in  inspecting  this 
animal,  half  an  hour  of  the  time  he  considered  too  precious  to 
be  wasted  on  his  wife,  Colonel  Colquhoun  summoned  Evadne's 
maid  to  show  me  upstairs,  and  cheerfully  went  his  way. 

But  that  remark  of  his  about  the  entree  to  his  wife's  apart- 
ments  had  made  an  impression.  I  was  in  duty  bound  to  fol 
low  up  any  clue  to  the  cause  of  her  present  state  of  mind,  and 
here  was  perhaps  a  morbid  symptom. 

"  Why  have  you  quarrelled  with  your  husband  ?  "  I  asked  in 
my  most  matter-of-course  tone,  as  soon  as  I  was  seated,  and 
had  heard  about  her  cold. 

|*  I  have  not  quarrelled  with  my  husband,"  she  answered, 
evidently  surprised. 

"  Then  what  does  he  mean  by  saying  that  he  hasn't  the 
tntrde  to  your  private  apartments  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  he  made  no  complaint  about  that,"  she 
answered  tranquilly. 

This  was  true.  He  had  merely  mentioned  the  fact  casually, 
and  not  as  a  thing  that  affected  his  comfort  or  happiness  in 
any  way. 

"Colonel  Colquhoun  and  I  are  better  friends  now,  if  any 
thing,  than  we  have  ever  been,"  she  added  of  her  own  accord, 
with  inquiry  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  wanted  to  know  what  could 
have  made  me  think  otherwise. 

I  should  have  said  myself  that  they  were   excellent  friends, 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  629 

but  what  precisely  did  "  friends  "  mean  ?  I  scented  something 
anomalous  here.  However,  it  was  not  a  point  that  I  con 
sidered  it  advisable  to  pursue.  I  had  ascertained  that  there 
was  no  morbid  feeling  in  the  matter,  and  that  was  all  that  I 
required  to  know.  I  only  paid  her  a  short  visit  that  morning, 
and  did  not  return  for  two  days  ;  but  I  had  been  thinking 
seriously  about  her  case  in  the  interval,  and  carefully  prepared 
to  inquire  into  it  particularly  ;  and  an  evident  increase  of 
languor  and  depression  gave  me  a  good  opening. 

"  Tell  me  how  you  are  to-day,"  I  began.      "Any  trouble  ?  " 

"  The  worry  in  my  head  is  awful !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Let 
me  go  downstairs.  I  am  better  there." 

She  was  essentially  a  child  of  light  and  air  and  movement, 
requiring  sunshine  indoors  as  well  as  out  to  keep  her  in  health. 
An  Italian  proverb  says  where  the  sun  does  not  come,  the 
doctor  does,  and  this  had  been  only  too  true  in  her  case.  It 
was  pure  animal  instinct  which  had  made  the  west  window  of 
the  drawing  room  her  favourite  place.  Nature,  animal  and 
vegetable,  is  under  an  imperative  law  to  seek  the  sun,  and  she 
had  unconsciously  obeyed  it  for  her  own  good.  But  she 
required  more  than  that  transient  gleam  in  the  western  win 
dow  ;  a  sun  bath  daily,  when  it  could  be  had,  is  what  I  should 
have  prescribed  for  her  ;  and  from  her  next  remark  I  judged 
that  she  had  discovered  for  herself  the  harm  which  the  depriva 
tion  of  light  was  doing  her. 

"  I  can  see  the  sun  all  day  long  beyond  the  shadow  of  the 
house,"  she  continued,  "  but  I  want  to  feel  it,  too.  I  would 
like  it  to  shine  on  me  in  the  early  morning,  and  wake  me  up 
and  warm  me.  There  is  no  heat  so  grateful ;  and  I  only  feel, 
half  alive  in  these  dark,  damp  rooms.  I  never  had  bronchitis 
or  was  delicate  at  all  in  any  way  until  we  came  here.  Let  me 
go  down,  won't  you  ?" 

"Well,  as  your  cold  is  so  much  better,  you  may  go  down- 
stairs  if  you  like.  But  you  mustn't  go  out,"  I  answered.  "  How 
are  you  going  to  amuse  yourself?" 

« Oh  !  "—she  looked  around  the  room  as  if  in  search  c 
something—"  I  don't  know  exactly.     Work,  I  suppose." 

"  You  don't  read  much  ? " 

"No    not  now,"  she  answered,  leaning  forward   witl 
hands   clasped   on   her   lap,  and   looking  dreamily   into 

lf"'Does  that  mean  that  you  used  to  read  once  ?"  I  pursued. 
"  You  have  plenty  of  books  here." 


_  5$o  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

She  looked  toward  the  well-filled  cases.  "Yes,"  she  said, 
"  old  friends.  I  seldom  open  any  of  them  now." 

"  Do  you  never  feel  that  they  reproach  you  for  losing  inter 
est  in  them  ? " 

She  smiled.  "  I  think  perhaps  they  are  relieved  because  I 
have  ceased  from  troubling  them — from  requiring  more  of 
them  than  they  could  give  me,"  she  answered,  smothering  a 
sigh. 

"  May  I  look  at  them  ? "  I  asked,  anticipating  her  permis 
sion  by  rising  and  going  toward  them. 

"Yes;  certainly,"  she  answered,  rising  herself,  and  follow- 
iug  me  languidly.  The  books  were  arranged  in  groups — 
science,  history,  biography,  travels,  poetry,  fiction ;  with 
bound  volumes  of  such  periodicals  as  the  Contemporary  Re 
view,  The  Nineteenth  Century,  and  the  Westminster.  I  read 
the  titles  of  the  volumes  in  the  science  divisions  with  surprise, 
for  she  had  never  betrayed,  nor  had  I  ever  suspected,  that  she 
had  added  the  incident  of  learning  to  the  accident  of  brains. 
But  if  she  knew  the  contents  of  but  half  of  these  books  well 
she  must  be  a  highly  educated  woman.  I  took  out  several  to 
see  how  they  had  been  read,  and  found  them  all  carefully 
annotated,  with  marginal  notes  very  clearly  written,  and  con 
taining  apposite  quotations  from  and  references  to  the  best 
authorities  on  the  various  subjects.  This  was  especially  the 
case  with  books  on  the  natural  sciences  ;  the  physical  ones 
having  apparently  interested  her  less. 

"  These  are  not  very  elegant  books  for  a  lady's  boudoir," 
she  said,  referring  to  the  plain  dark  bindings.  "  I  dislike 
gorgeously  bound  books,  and  could  never  make  a  pet  of  one. 
They  are  like  over-dressed  people  ;  all  one's  care  is  concen 
trated  upon  their  appearance,  and  their  real  worth  of  charac 
ter,  if  they  have  any,  escapes  one." 

"Were  you  ever  an  omnivorous  reader  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No,  I  am  thankful  to  say,"  she  answered,  her -natural 
aptitude  for  intellectual  pursuits  overcoming  her  artificial 
objection  to  them,  as  she  looked  at  her  books  and  became 
interested  in  them  in  spite  of  herself  ;  "  for  I  notice  that  the 
average  reader  who  reads  much  remembers  little,  and  is 
absurdly  inaccurate.  It  is  as  bad  to  read  everything  as  to  eat 
everything  ;  the  mind,  when  it  is  gorged  with  a  surfeit  of 
subjects,  retains  none  of  them." 

She  had  a  fairly  representative  collection  of  French,  Italian, 
and  German  books,  all  equally  well-read  and  annotated,  each 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  631 

in  its  own  language,  the  French  and  Italian  being  excellent, 
but  the  German  imperfect,  although,  as  she  told  me,  she  liked 
both  the  language  and  the  literature  very  much  the  best  of  the 
three.  "  German  suggested  ideas  to  me,"  she  said,  "and  that 
is  why  I  paid  less  attention  to  the  construction  of  the  lan 
guage,  I  think.  But  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  no  elegancies 
in  any  tongue  I  use,  for  language  has  always  been  to  me  a 
vehicle  of  thought,  and  not  a  part  of  art  to  be  employed  with 
striking  effect.  Now,  here  is  Carlyle,  the  arch  phrasemaker. 
I  always  admired  him  more  than  I  loved  him  ;  but  his  books 
are  excellent  for  intellectual  exercise.  He  forced  those  phrases 
from  his  brain  with  infinite  pains,  and,  when  you  take  them 
collectively,  you  find  yourself  obliged  to  force  them  into  yours 
in  like  manner." 

She  had  become  all  interest  and  animation  by  this  time,  and 
I  had  never  known  her  so  delightful  as  she  was  that  morning 
while  showing  me  her  books.  She  had  no  objection  to  lend 
ing  me  any  that  I  chose,  although  I  told  her  that  I  only 
wanted  them  to  read  her  notes.  I  took  a  variety,  but  found 
no  morbid  tendency  in  any  remark  she  had  made  upon 
them. 

I  paid  my  visit  late  in  the  afternoon  next  day,  and  found 
Evadne  in  the  drawing  room.  She  was  standing  in  the  win 
dow  when  I  entered,  but  came  down  the  room  to  greet  me. 

"  I  have  been  watching  for  you,"  she  said.  "  I  hoped  you 
would  come  early.  And  I  have  also  been  watching  that  party 
of  jubilant  ducks  waddling  down  the  road.  Come  and  see 
them.  I  believe  they  belong  to  us.  They  must  have  escaped 
from  the  yard.  But  aren't  they  enjoying  the  ramble  !  That 
old  drake  is  quite  puffed  up  with  excitement  and  importance  ! 
He  goes  along  nodding  his  head,  and  saying  again  and  again 
to  the  ducks :  '  Now,  didn't  I  tell  you  so  !  and  aren't  you  glad 
you  took  my  advice  and  came  ?'  And  all  the  ducks  are  smil 
ing  and  complimenting  him  upon  his  wisdom  and  courage. 
They  ought  to  be  driven  back,  but  I  haven't  the  heart  to  spoil 
their  pleasure  just  yet  by  informing  against  them." 

I  was  standing  beside  her  in  the  window  now,  and  she 
looked  up  at  me,  smiling  as  she  spoke.  She  was  brighter 
under  the  immediate  influence  even  of  the  watery  winter  sun, 
now  a  red  ball,  glowing  behind  the  brown  branches  of  the 
leafless  trees,  than  she  had  been  in  her  gloomy  north  room  ; 
and  I  took  this  lively  interest  in  the  adventurous  ducks  to  be 
a  glimpse  of  the  joyous,  healthy  mind,  seeing  character  in  ft!) 


>32  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

things  animate,  and  gifted  with  sympathy  as  well  as  insight, 
which  must  naturally  have  been  hers. 

"  When  am  I  to  go  out  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  begin  to  long  for 
a  sight  of  my  fellow-creatures.  I  don't  want  to  speak  to 
them.  I  only  want  to  see  them.  But  I  am  sociable  to  that 
extent — when  I  am  in  my  right  mind." 

"  Tell  me  about  this  mental  malady,"  I  begged. 

"  Ah,"  she  began,  laughing  up  at  me,  but  with  a  touch  of 
bitterness.  "  I  interest  you  now  !  I  am  a  case  !  You  do  not 
flatter  me.  But  I  mean  to  give  you  every  help  in  my  power. 
If  only  you  could  cure  me  !  "  She  clasped  her  hands  and 
held  them  out  to  me,  the  gesture  of  an  instant,  but  full  of 
earnest  entreaty. 

"  Come  from  the  window,"  I  said.     "  It  is  chilly  here." 

"  Yes,  come  to  the  fire,"  she  rejoined,  leading  the  way  ; 
"  and  sit  down,  and  let  us  have  tea,  and  talk,  and  be  cosey. 
You  want  me  to  talk  about  myself,  and  I  will  if  I  can.  I  was 
happy  just  now,  but  you  see  I  am  depressed  in  a  moment.  It 
is  misery  to  me  to  be  so  variable.  And  I  constantly  feel  as  if 
I  wanted  something — to  be  somewhere,  or  to  have  something  ; 
I  don't  know  where  or  what  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  general  dis 
satisfaction,  but  it  is  all  the  worse  for  not  being  positive.  If 
I  knew  what  I  wanted,  I  should  be  cured  by  the  effort  to 
obtain  it." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  began  to  make  up  the  fire  ;  and  I  sat 
down  and  watched  her  because  she  liked  to  do  those  things  in 
her  own  house.  "  Strangers  wait  upon  me,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
my  friends  allow  me  to  wait  upon  them." 

When  the  servant  had  brought  tea  and  retired,  she  began 
again. 

"  Now  question  me,"  she  said,  "  and  make  me  tell  you  the 
truth." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  tell  me  the  truth,"  I  asserted. 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  try,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  I  am  not  so 
sure  that  I  shall  succeed.  If  you  provoke  me,  I  shall  fence 
with  you;  if  you  confuse  me,  I  shall  unwittingly  say  '  yes ' 
when  I  mean  *  no.'  In  fact,  I  am  surprised  to  find  myself 
confiding  this  trouble  to  you  at  all  !  It  has  come  about  by 
accident,  but  I  am  very  glad  ;  it  is  such  a  relief  to  speak. 
But  how  has  it  come  about  ? "  she  broke  off.  "  Did  you 
suspect  ? " 

"  Suspect  what  ?" 

"  That  I  am  insane." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  633 

"  You  are  not  insane,"  I  answered  harshly. 

She  looked  at  me  as  if  my  words  or  manner  amused  her. 
"  I  remember  now,"  she  said.  "  I  complained  of  the  worry  in 
my  head,  and  then  you  questioned  me." 

"  It  is  not  an  uncommon  complaint,"  I  rejoined. 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  she  answered.  "  Well,  I  don't  know  whether 
to  be  sorry  for  the  other  sufferers,  or  relieved  to  think  that 
I  am  not  the  only  one,  which  is  what  you  intend,  I  believe. 
But,  doctor,  the  misery  is  terrible,  especially  now  that  it  has 
become  almost  incessant.  It  drives  me — fills  my  mind  with 
such  dreadful  ideas.  I  have  actually  meditated  murder 
lately." 

"  Murder  in  the  abstract,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No,  murder  actually,  murder  for  my  own  benefit,  or  what 
I  fancy  in  that  mood  would  be  for  my  benefit  ;  the  murder  of 
one  poor  miserable  creature  whom  I  pity  with  all  my  heart 
and  really  care  for — when  I  am  in  my  right  mind." 

My  heart  sank.  It  was  not  necessary  for  me  to  know,  and 
I  had  no  inclination  to  ask,  who  the  "  one  poor  miserable 
creature  "  was. 

"  And  when  the  impulse  is  on  you,  what  do  you  do  ? " 
I  said. 

"  It  is  not  an  impulse  exactly,"  she  answered  ;  "  at  least,  it 
is  nothing  which  I  have  ever  had  the  slightest  inclination  to 
act  upon.  I  am  just  possessed  by  the  idea — whatever  it  may 
be — and  then  I  cannot  sit  still.  I  have  to  rush  out." 

"Into  Regent  Street,  for  example?"  I  suggested,  her  last 
remark  having  thrown  a  sudden  side-light  upon  that  occur 
rence. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "  But  I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to 
Regent  Street.  I  had  read  of  Dickens  prowling  about  the 
streets  of  London  late  at  night  when  he  was  suffering  from 
the  effects  of  overwork,  and  recovering  his  tranquillity  and 
power  in  that  way,  and  I  thought  I  would  try  the  experiment ; 
so  I  went  out  and  just  walked  on  until  I  was  tired,  and  then 
I  got  into  an  omnibus,  so  as  to  be  with  the  people,  and  when 
it  stopped  and  they  all  got  out,  I  got  out  too,  and  walked  on 
again,  and  then  that  horrid  old  man  spoke  to  me.  It  was 
a  great  shock,  but  it  had  the  happiest  effect.  I  woke  up,  as 
it  were,  the  moment  I  got  rid  of  him,  and  felt  quite  myself 
again  ;  and  then  I  hurried  back,  as  you  know.  You  still  dis 
approve?  Well,  in  one  way,  perhaps  you  are  right ;  but  stil 
it  did  me  good."  She  stopped,  and  looked  into  the  fire 


634  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

thoughtfully  ;  and  then  she  smiled.  "  Forgive  me,  do  !  "  she 
said.  "  I  know  I  behaved  badly  next  day ;  I  could  not  help 
it.  The  sudden  relief  to  my  mind  had  sent  my  spirits  up 
inordinately  for  one  thing  ;  and  then  your  face  !  Your 
consternation  was  really  comical !  If  I  had  injured  you 
irreparably  in  your  estimation  of  the  value  of  your  own  opinion 
of  people,  you  could  not  have  cared  more.  But  I  am  sorry, 
very,  very  sorry,"  she  added,  with  feeling,  "  that  you  should 
have  lost  your  respect  for  me." 

"  What  could  make  you  think  that  I  had  lost  my  respect  for 
you  ? "  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Because,  you  know,  you  have  never  come  to  see  me  since, 
as  you  used  to  do."  She  looked  at  me  a  moment  wistfully, 
and  I  knew  she  half  expected  me  to  explain  or  make  some 
excuse  ;  but  I  could  not,  unfortunately,  do  either  without 
making  bad  worse.  I  could  assure  her,  however,  honestly, 
that  I  had  not  lost  my  respect  for  her. 

"  And  I  came  to  see  you  when  you  required  me,"  I  added. 

But  she  was  not  satisfied.  "I  know  your  philanthropy," 
she  said.  "  But  I  would  rather  have  you  come  as  of  old 
because  you  believed  in  me,  and  like  and  respect  me.  I  value 
your  friendship,  and  it  pains  me  to  find  that  you  can  only 
treat  me  now  like  any  other  suffering  sinner.  Is  it  going  to 
be  so  always  ? " 

("  Will  the  child  kill  me  with  her  innocent  talk  ?  ") 

She  had  not  alluded  to  the  discontinuance  of  my  visits 
before.  I  thought  she  had  not  missed  me,  and,  being  in 
a  double  mood,  had  been  somewhat  hurt  by  the  seeming 
indifference,  although  I  would  not  have  had  her  want  me  when 
I  could  not  come.  Now,  however,  I  was  greatly  distressed  to 
find  the  construction  she  had  put  upon  my  absence,  and  all 
the  more  so  because  I  could  not  explain. 

"  Do  not  say  that  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  You  have  always  had, 
you  always  will  have,  my  most  sincere  respect.  It  is  part  of 
an  unhealthy  state  of  mind  which  makes  you  doubt  the 
attachment  of  your  friends." 

She  was  glad  to  accept  this  assertion.  "  Ah,  yes  !  "  she 
said.  "  I  know  the  symptoms,  but  I  had  forgotten  for  the 
moment.  Thank  you.  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again  !  " 
She  sighed,  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  folded  her  hands  on  her 
lap,  and  looked  at  me-^"  if  only  as  a  doctor,"  she  added 


TWINS.  635 

slowly.  «  You  have  some  mysterious  power  over  my  mind 
Ail  great  doctors  have  the  power  I  mean  ;  I  wonder  what  it 
is.  Your  very  presence  restores  me  in  an  extraordinary  way 
You  dispel  the  worry  in  my  head  without  a  word,  by  just 
being  here,  however  bad  it  is.  1  used  to  long  for  you  so  on 
those  days  when  you  never  came,  and  I  used  to  watch  for  you 
and  be  disappointed  when  you  drove  past  ;  but  then  I  always 
said,  '  He  will  come  to-morrow,'  and  that  was  something  to 
look  forward  to.  I  used  to  think  at  first  you  would  get  over 
my  escapade,  or  learn  to  take  another  view  of  it  ;  but  then, 
when  you  never  came,  I  gradually  lost  heart  and  hope,  and 
that  is  how  it  was  I  broke  down,  I  think.'" 

This  guileless  confidence  affected  me  painfully. 

"  But  I  want  to  discover  the  secret  of  a  great  doctor's  suc 
cess,"  she  pursued.  "What  is  your  charm?  There  is  some 
thing  mesmeric  about  you,  I  think,  something  inimical  to  dis 
ease  at  all  events.  There  is  healing  in  your  touch,  and  your 
very  manners  make  an  impression  which  cures." 

"  Knowledge,  I  suppose,  has  nothing  to  do  with  it  ?  "  I  sug 
gested,  smiling. 

"  No,  nothing,"  she  answered  emphatically.  "  I  have  car 
ried  out  directions  of  yours  successfully  which  had  been  pre 
viously  given  to  me  by  another  doctor  and  tried  by  me  without 
effect.  You  alter  the  attitude  of  one's  mind  somehow — that 
is  how  you  do  it,  I  believe." 

"  Well,  I  hope  to  alter  the  present  attitude  of  your  mind 
completely,"  I  answered.  "  And  to  resume.  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  how  you  feel  when  one  of  those  tormenting  thoughts 
has  passed.  Do  you  suffer  remorse  for  having  entertained 
it?" 

"  Only  an  occasional  pang,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not  allow 
myself  to  sorrow  or  suffer  for  thoughts  which  I  cannot  con 
trol.  I  am  suffering  from  a  morbid  state  of  mind,  and  it  is 
my  duty  to  fight  against  the  impulses  which  it  engenders. 
But  my  responsibility  begins  and  ends  with  the  struggle.  And 
I  am  quite  sure  that  it  is  wiser  to  try  and  forget  that  such 
ideas  ever  were  than  to  encourage  them  to  haunt  me  by  recol 
lecting  them  even  for  purposes  of  penitential  remorse." 

"  And  when  it  is  not  a  criminal  impulse  that  affects 
you " 

"  Criminal!  "  she  ejaculated,  aghast  at  the  word. 

I  had  used  it  on  purpose  to  see  its  effect  upon  her,  and  was 
satisfied.  The  moral  consciousness  was  still  intact. 


636  THE  HEAVENLY 

"  Yes,"  I  persisted.  "  But  when  it  is  not  an  impulse  of  that 
kind,  what  is  it  that  disturbs  your  mind  ?  " 

"Thoughts  of  the  suffering,  the  awful,  needless  suffering 
that  there  is  in  the  world.  The  perception  of  it  is  a  spur 
which  goads  me  at  times  so  that  I  feel  as  if  I  could  do  almost 
anything  to  lessen  the  sum  of  it.  But  then,  you  see,  my 
hands  are  tied,  so  that  all  I  can  do  is  think,  think,  think." 

u  We  must  change  that  to  work,  work,  work,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  she  answered  despondently.  "  Body  and 
mind  have  suffered — mind  and  body.  All  that  is  not  wrong 
in  me  is  weak.  I  would  have  it  otherwise,  yes.  But  give  me 
some  anodyne  to  relieve  the  pain  ;  that  is  all  you  can  do  for 
me  now." 

"  I  will  give  you  no  anodyne,  either  actual  or  figurative,"  I 
answered,  rising  to  go.  "  If  you  had  no  recuperative  force 
left  in  you  there  would  be  less  energy  in  your  despair.  It 
rests  with  yourself  now  entirely  to  be  as  healthy-minded  as 
ever  again  if  you  like." 

I  never  could  remember  whether  I  said  good-bye  to  her  that 
day,  or  just  walked  out  of  the  room,  like  the  forgetful  boor  I 
sometimes  am,  with  the  words  on  my  lips. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  MEDICAL  man  who  does  not  keep  his  moral  responsi- 
j\  bility  before  him  in  the  consideration  of  a  case  must  be 
a  very  indifferent  practitioner,  and,  with  regard  to  Evadne,  I 
felt  mine  to  such  an  extent  that,  before  the  interview  was 
over,  I  had  decided  that  I  was  not  the  proper  person  to  treat 
her.  I  doubted  my  judgment  for  one  thing,  which  showed 
that  for  once  my  nerve  was  at  fault ;  and  I  had  other  reasons 
which  it  is  not  necessary  to  give.  I  therefore  determined  to 
run  up  to  town  to  consult  Sir  Shadwell  Rock  about  her.  He 
was  a  distinguished  colleague  and  personal  friend  of  mine,  a 
man  of  vast  experience,  and  many  years  my  senior ;  and  I 
knew  that  if  he  would  treat  her,  she  could  not  be  in  better 
hands. 

When  I  left  As-You-Like-It  I  found  that  I  had  just  time  to 
drive  to  Morningquest  and  catch  the  last  train  to  town.  It 
was  a  four  hours'  journey,  but  fortunately  there  was  a  train  in 
the  early  morning  which  would  bring  me  back  in  time  for  my 
own  work. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWIN'S.  637 

I  knew  Sir  Sbadwell  was  in  town,  and  telegraphed  to  him  to 
beg  him  to  see  me  that  night  at  half-past  eleven  if  he  possibly 
could,  and,  on  arriving,  I  found  him  at  home — very  much  at 
home,  indeed,  in  a  smoking  jacket  and  slippers  over  a  big  fire 
in  his  own  private  sanctum,  enjoying  his  bachelor  ease  with  a 
cigarette  and  the  last  shilling  shocker. 

I  apologised  for  my  untimely  visit,  but  he  put  me  at  my 
ease  at  once  by  cordially  assuring  me  that  I  had  done  him  a 
favour.  "  I  was  going  to  a  boring  big  dinner  this  evening  when 
your  telegram  arrived,  and  your  coming  in  this  way  suggested 
something  sufficiently  important  to  detain  me,  so  I  sent  an 
excuse,  and  have  had  a  wholesome  chop,  and — eh — a  real  good 
time"  he  added  confidentially,  tapping  the  novelette.  "  Extra 
ordinary  production  this,  really.  Most  entertaining.  I  can't 
guess  who  did  it,  you  know,  I  can't  indeed — but,  my  dear  boy, 
to  what  do  I  owe  the  pleasure  ?  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? 

"  First  of  all  give  me  a  wholesome  chop  if  you  have  another 
in  the  house,  for  I'm  famishing." 

"  Oh,  a   thousand    pardons   for   my  remissness !  "   he  ex 
claimed,  ringing  the  bell  vehemently.    "  Of  course  you  haven't 
dined.     I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that.     Something  very 
important,  I  suppose  ?  " 
"  A  most  interesting  case." 
"  Mental  ? " 
"  Yes.     A  lady.'* 

"  Well,  not  another  word  until  you've  had  something  to  eat. 
Suitable  surroundings  play  an  important  part  in  the  discussion 
of  such  cases,  and  suitable  times  and  seasons  also.  ^  Just 
before  dinner  one  isn't  sanguine,  and  just  after  one  is  too 
much  so.  When  you  have  eaten,  take  time  to  reflect— and 
a  cigarette  if  you  are  a  smoker."  He  had  beeh  holding  his 
book  in  his  hand  all  the  time,  but  now  he  pottered  to  a  side- 
table  with  an  old  man's  stiffness,  peeped  at  the  paragraph  he 
had  been  reading,  marked  his  place  with  a  paper  cutter,  and 
muttered—"  Very  strange,  for  if  she  didn't  steal  the  jewels, 
who  did  ?  Mustn't  dip  though  ;  spoils  it."  He  put  the 
book  down,  and  returned  to  me,  taking  off  his  spectacles  as 
he  came,  and  smoothing  his  thick  white  hair, 
say  a  word  if  you've  read  it,"  he  cautioned  me. 
owe  everybody  a  grudge  who  tells  me  the  plot  of  a  story  I'm 
interested  in.  But,  let  me  see,  what  was  I  saying? 
Take  time,  that  was  it !  There  is  nothing  like  letting  yourself 
settle  if  you  are  at  alt  perplexed.  When  the  memory  is 


638  THE  HEAVENLY   TWTNS. 

crowded  with  details  the  mind  becomes  muddy,  and  you  must 
let  it  clear  itself.  That  is  the  secret  of  my  own  success.  In 
any  difficulty  I  have  always  waited.  Don't  try  to  think. 
Much  better  dismiss  the  matter  from  your  mind  altogether, 
make  yourself  comfortable  in  the  easiest  chair  in  the  room, 
get  a  rousing  book — the  subject  is  of  no  importance,  so  long 
as  it  interests  you — and  in  half  an  hour,  if  the  physical  well- 
being  is  satisfactory,  you  will  find  the  mental  tension  grad 
ually  relax.  Your  ideas  begin  to  flow,  your  judgment  becomes 
clear,  and  you  suddenly  see  for  yourself  in  a  way  that 
astonishes  you." 

"  Then  pray  oblige  me  by  resuming  your  seat  and  cigar 
ette,"  I  answered,  "  and  let  me  transfer  my  difficulty  to  you 
while  the  moment  lasts — your  moment !  " 

"  When  you  have  dined,"  he  said  good-hnmouredly. 
"  I  won't  hear  a  word  while  you  are  famishing.  Tell  me  how 
you  are  yourself,  and  what  you  are  doing.  My  dear  boy,  it  is 
really  a  pleasure  to  see  you  !  Why  aren't  you  married  ?  " 

"  Now,  really,  do  you  expect  me  to  answer  such  an  impor 
tant  question  as  that  with  my  mind  in  its  present  muddy  con 
dition  ! "  I  retorted  upon  him.  "  My  many  reasons  are  all 
rioting  in  my  recollection,  and  I  can't  see  one  clearly." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled,  and  sat  patting  the  arms  of  his 
chair  for  a  little.  "  You're  looking  fagged,"  he  remarked 
presently.  "  Work  won't  hurt  you,  but  beware  of  worry  !  " 

My  dinner  was  brought  to  me  on  a  tray  at  this  instant,  and 
the  dear  old  man  got  up  to  see  that  it  was  properly  served. 
He  tried  the  champagne  himself,  to  be  sure  it  was  right,  and 
gave  careful  directions  about  the  coffee.  His  interest  in 
everything  was  as  fresh  as  a  boy's,  and  nothing  he  could  do 
in  the  way  of  kindness  was  ever  a  trouble  to  him. 

"  You  have  been  coming  out  strong  in  defence  of  morality 
lately,"  I  remarked,  when  I  had  dined.  "  You  have  some 
what  startled  the  proprieties." 

"  Startled  the  pruderies,  you  mean,"  he  answered,  bridling. 
"The  proprieties  face  any  necessity  for  discussion  with 
modest  discretion,  however  painful  it  may  be." 

"Well,  you've  done  some  good,  at  all  events,"  I  answered. 
I  did  not  tell  him,  but  only  that  very  day  I  had  heard  it  said 
that  his  was  a  name  which  all  women  should  reverence  for 
what  he  had  done  for  some  of  them. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  clergy  have  had  a  long  innings. 
They  have  been  hard  at  it  for  the  last  eighteen  hundred  years, 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  639 

and  society  is  still  rotten  at  the  core.  It  is  our  turn  now. 
But  come,  draw  up  your  chair  to  the  fire  and  be  comfortable. 
Well,  yes,"  he  went  on,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  I  suppose  event 
ually  morality  will  be  taught  by  medical  men,  and  when  it  is 
much  misery  will  be  saved  to  the  suffering  sex.  My  own  idea 
is  that  a  woman  is  a  human  being  ;  but  the  clerical  theory  is 
that  she  is  a  dangerous  beast,  to  be  kept  in  subjection,  and 
used  for  domestic  purposes  only.  Married  life  is  made  up  to 
a  great  extent  of  the  most  heartless  abuse  of  a  woman's  love 
and  unselfishness.  Submission,  you  know !  " 

When  I  had  given  him  the  details  of  Evadne's  case,  so  far 
as  I  had  gone  into  it,  he  asked  me  what  my  own  theory  was. 

"  I  feel  sure  it  is  the  old  story  of  these  cases  in  women," 
I  answered.  "  The  natural  bent  has  been  thwarted  to  begin 
with." 

"  Yes,"  he  commented,  "  that  is  a  fruitful  source  of  mischief 
even  in  these  days,  when  women  so  often  listen  to  the  voice  of 
the  Lord  himself  speaking  in  their  own  hearts,  and  do  what 
he  directs  in  spite  of  the  Church.  The  restrictions  imposed 
upon  women  of  ability  warp  their  minds,  and  the  rising  gen 
eration  suffers.  But  how  has  the  natural  bent  been  thwarted 
in  this  case  ?" 

"  I  have  not  ascertained,"  I  said.  "  She  is  a  woman  of 
remarkable  general  intelligence,  but  she  makes  no  use  of  it, 
and  she  does  not  seem  to  have  any  one  decided  talent  that  she 
cares  to  cultivate,  and  consequently  she  has  no  absorbing 
interest  to  occupy  her  mind,  no  purpose  for  which  to  live  and 
make  the  most  of  her  abilities.  She  attends  punctually  to  her 
social  duties,  but  they  do  not  suffice,  and  she  has  of  necessity 
many  spare  hours  of  every  day  on  her  hands,  during  which 
she  sits  and  sews  alone.  I  suppose  a  woman's  embroidery 
answers  much  the  same  purpose  as  a  man's  cigarette.  It 
quiets  her  nerves,  and  helps  her  to  think.  If  she  is  satisfied 
and  happy  in  her  surroundings  her  reflections  will  probably 
be  tranquil  and  healthy,  but  if  her  outward  circumstances  are 
not  congenial,  she  will  banish  all  thoughts  of  them  in  her 
hours  of  ease,  and  her  mind  will  gradually  become  a  prey  t 
vain  imaginings— pleasant  enough  to  begin  with,  doubt 
but  likely  to  take  a  morbid  tone  at  any  time  if  Jier  healtl 
suffers.  This  has  been  the  case  with  Evadne 

"  With  whom?  "  Sir  Shadwell  interrupted. 

"With  my  patient,"  I  stammered.  "  I  have  been  accus 
tomed  to  hear  her  spoken  of  by  her  Christian  name." 


640  TffE  KEAVEKLY  TWINS, 

"  Humph  !  "  the  old  gentleman  grunted,  enigmatically. 

"  She  has  one  of  those  minds  which  should  be  occupied  by 
a  succession  of  lively  events,  all  helping  on  some  desir 
able  object,"  I  proceeded—"  the  mind  of  a  naturally  active 
woman." 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  "  it  seems  to  be  another  instance  of 
the  iniquitous  folly  of  allowing  the  one  sex  to  impose  galling 
limitations  upon  the  other.  It  is  not  an  uncommon  case  so  far 
as  the  mental  symptoms  go.  How  does  she  get  on  with  her 
husband  ?  does  she  contradict  him?" 

"  No,  never,"  I  answered.  "  She  is  always  courteous  and 
considerate." 

"Ah,  now,  I  thought  so,"  he  chuckled.  "A  happily  mar 
ried  woman  contradicts  her  husband  flatly  whenever  she 
thinks  proper.  She  knows  she  is  safe  from  wrangling  and 
bitterness.  I  think  you  will  find  that  the  domestic  position  is 
the  difficulty  here.  You  don't  seem  to  have  inquired  into  that 
very  carefully." 

I  made  no  answer,  and  he  looked  at  me  sharply  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  asked  me  how  old  my  patient  was. 

"  Twenty-five,"  I  told  him. 

"  Twenty-five,"  he  repeated;  "and  you  are  intimate  with 
both  her  and  her  husband.  Now,  have  you  ever  had  any 
reason  to  doubt  her  honesty — her  verbal  honesty  of  course  I 
mean  ?" 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  I  answered.  "I  have  always  found 
her  almost  peculiarly  frank." 

"  A  woman  may  be  accurate,  you  know,  in  all  she  says  of 
other  people,"  he  observed;  "  but  that  is  no  proof  that  she  will 
be  so  concerning  herself." 

"  I  know,"  was  my  reply;  "  but  I  feel  quite  sure  of  this  lady's 
word." 

"  And  during  the  time  that  you  have  known  her  she  now 
confesses  that  she  has  suffered  more  or  less  ? " 

"Yes.  She  mentioned  one  interval  during  which  she  said 
a  new  interest  in  life  took  her  completely  out  of  herself." 

"  What  was  the  interest  ?  " 

"I  did  not  ask  her." 

"  She  fell  in  love,  I  suppose,  and  you  happened  to  know 
the  fact." 

"  I  neither  know,  nor  suspected  such  a  thing," 

"  That  was  it,  you  may  be  sure,"  Sir  Shadwell  decided. 
"  When  a  young  and  attractive  woman,  who  speaks  to  her  hus- 


TffE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  64! 

band  with  marked  courtesy  and  consideration,  instead  of 
treating  him  familiarly,  talks  of  having  an  interest  in  life  which 
takes  her  completely  out  of  herself,  you  may  take  it  for  granted 
almost  always  that  the  new  interest  is  love." 

"  It  is  more  likely  to  have  been  the  small-pox  epidemic," 
I  rejoined,  and  then  I  gave  him  an  account  of  that  episode. 

"Ah,  well,  perhaps,"  he  said.  "We  are  evidently  dealing 
with  a  nature  full  of  surprises."  He  pursed  up  his  mouth  and 
eyed  me  attentively.  "  My  dear  boy,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I 
think  I  see  your  difficulty.  You  had  better  turn  this  case 
over  to  me  altogether." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  answered.  "  That  is  what  I  should  like  to 
have  suggested." 

"  Then  send  the  lady  up  to  town,  and  I  will  do  my  best  for 
her." 

CHAPTER  XV. 

SIR  SHADWELL  ROCK  was  exactly  the  kind  of  man 
Evadne  had  had  in  her  mind,  I  felt  sure,  when  she  spoke  of 
the  peculiar  influence  which  distinguished  men  of  my  profession 
exercise  upon  their  patients.  He  was  a  man  of  taking  manners 
to  begin  with,  sympathetic,  cultivated,  humane;  and,  I  need 
hardly  add,  scrupulously  conscientious  and  exact.  I  could 
confide  her  to  his  care  with  the  most  perfect  reliance  upon  his 
kindness,  as  well  as  upon  his  discretion  and  skill — if  she  would 
consent  to  consult  him  at  all;  but  that  was  a  little  difficulty 
which  had  still  to  be  got  over.  I  anticipated  some  opposition, 
because  I  felt  sure  she  had  not  realized  that  there  was  any. 
thing  threatening  to  be  serious  in  her  case,  and  would  there 
fore  see  no  necessity  for  further  advice.  This  made  the 
arrangement  difficult.  It  would  not  do  to  arouse  any  appre 
hension  about  her  own  state  of  mind;  but  how  to  induce  her 
to  go  to  London  to  consult  an  eminent  specialist  without  doing 
so  was  the  question.  Had  Lady  Adeline  been  at  home  the 
suggestion  would  have  come  best  from  her,  but  in  her  absence 
there  was  nobody  to  make  it  except  that  impossible  Colonel 
Colquhoun.  If  he  chose  to  order  Evadne  to  consult  Sir 
Shadwell  Rock,  I  knew  she  would  do  so  at  once,  for  she  never 
opposed  him,  and  he  was  so  apt  to  be  unreasonable  and  capri 
cious  that  she  would  probably  not  think  that  the  order 
signified  much.  But  the  further  question  was,  would  he  give 
it  ?  After  I  had  finished  my  morning's  work,  I  drove  to  the 


64*  TtiE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

dep6t  to  see.  The  men  were  on  parade  when  I  entered  the 
barrack  square.  They  were  drawn  up  in  line,  and  the  first 
thing  I  saw  was  Colonel  Colquhoun  himself  prancing  about  on 
his  charger,  and  not  in  the  most  amiable  mood  possible,  I  im 
agined,  from  the  way  he  was  blackguarding  the  men.  He  sat 
his  horse  well,  and  was  a  fine  soldierlike  man  in  uniform,  and 
a  handsome  man  too,  of  the  martial  order,  when  his  bald  head 
was  hidden  by  his  cocked  hat,  and  his  blond  moustache  had 
a  chance;  the  sort  of  man  to  take  a  woman's  fancy  if  not  the 
kind  of  character  to  keep  her  regard. 

An  unhappy  old  mounted  major  had  got  into  trouble  just 
as  I  came  up.  His  palfrey  was  an  easy  ambler,  but  he  was 
the  sort  of  old  gentleman  who  would  not  have  been  safe  in 
a  rocking  chair  with  his  sword  drawn  and  his  chief  compli 
menting  him. 

"  You  ride  like  a  damned  tailor,  sir,"  Colonel  Colquhoun 
was  thundering  at  him  just  as  I  drove  up. 

An  officer  in  undress  uniform,  Captain  Bartlet,  and  Brigade 
Surgeon  James,  who  was  in  mufti,  were  standing  at  an  open 
window  in  the  ante-room,  and  I  joined  them  there,  and  looked 
out  at  the  parade. 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  fellows  stand  that  kind  of  thing, 
arid  before  the  men,  too,"  I  remarked,  a propos  of  a  fresh  volley 
of  abuse  from  Colonel  Colquhoun. 

"  Oh  !  by  Jove  !  we've  got  to  stand  it,  many  of  us,  for 
weighty  considerations  quite  apart  from  our  personal  dignity," 
Captain  Bartlet  rejoined.  "  A  man  with  a  wife  and  five  chil 
dren  depending  upon  him  will  swallow  a  lot  for  their  sake.  It 
would  be  easy  enough  to  answer  him,  but  self-interest  keeps 
us  quiet— a  deuced  sight  oftener  than  discipline,  by  the  way. 
However,"  he  added  cheerfully,  "  all  C.  O.'s  are  not  so  bad  as 
that  brute  out  there,  nor  the  half  of  them  for  the  matter  of 
that." 

"  But,  still,  it's  a  wonder  what  you  stand,  you  combatants,'* 
Dr.  James  observed. 

"  Shut  up,  doctor,"  Captain  Bartlet  rejoined  good-naturedly, 
"  Don't  presume  upon  your  superior  position.  Your  promo 
tion  doesn't  depend  upon  the  colonel's  confidential  report,  nor 
your  peace  in  life  upon  his  fancy  for  you.  You  can  disagree 
with  him  in  your  own  line,  but  we  can't  in  ours." 

"  Is  Colonel  Colquhoun  often  so  ?  "  I  asked.  He  had  just 
been  assuring  that  unfortunate  major  that  a  billet  in  the 
Commissariat  department,  with  a  pound  of  beef  on  one  spur 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  643 

and  a  loaf  of  bread  on  the  other  to  prevent  accidents,  was  the 
thing  for  him. 

"  More  or  less,"  was  the  answer.  "  He's  notorious  all  through 
the  service.  He  brought  his  own  regiment  up  to  a  high  state 
of  efficiency,  I  must  say  that  for  him,  and  led  it  into  action 
like  a  man  ;  but,  between  ourselves,  I  expect  there's  never 
been  a  time  since  he  got  his  company  when  there  wasn't  a 
bullet  ready  for  him.  You  remember,  James,  in  India  ?  of 
course  it  was  an  accident !  " 

The  doctor  nodded.  "  The  men  call  him  Bully  Colquhoun," 
he  supplemented. 

"But  surely  his  character  is  known  at  the  Horse  Guards?" 
I  said. 

"  Ah,  you  see  he's  a  smart  officer,"  Captain  Bartlet  re 
joined  ;  "  and  what  are  officers  for  ?  To  knock  about  and  to 
be  knocked  about.  Just  look  at  him  now  !  See  how  he's  buck 
eting  those  men  about  !  He- was  a  militiaman,  and  that's  a 
militiaman  all  over  !  A  man  who's  been  through  Sandhurst 
has  carried  a  rifle  for  a  year  himself,  and  he  knows  what  it  is, 
and  gives  his  men  their  stand  easy  ;  but  a  militiaman  has  no 
more  feeling  for  them  than  a  block." 

"  Well,  I  can't  see  why  you  seniors  don't  remonstrate,"  I 
rejoined.  "  The  War  Office  is  bound  to  support  you  if  you 
show  good  cause." 

"  Yes,  and  cashier  you  too  for  very  little,  if  you  make  your 
self  obnoxious  by  giving  them  trouble,"  Bartlet  replied.  "  Roy- 
lance  was  the  only  fellow  that  ever  really  stood  up  to  Col 
quhoun.  He  was  a  young  subaltern  that  had  just  joined,  but 
an  awful  devil  when  he  was  roused,  and  he  swore  in  the  ante 
room  that  if  the  colonel  ever  blackguarded  him  before  the  men, 
or  anywhere  else,  or  presumed  upon  his  position  to  address 
him  in  terms  which  one  gentleman  is  not  permitted  to  use  to 
another,  he'd  give  him  as  much  as  he  got.  Well,  the  very 
next  day,  on  parade,  Roylance  got  the  men  into  a  muddle. 
Colquhoun's  a  good  soldier,  you  know,  and  nothing  riles  him 
like  inefficiency  ;  and,  by  Jove  !  he  was  down  on  the  lad  like 
shot  !  He  poured  his  whole  vocabulary  on  him,  and  then, 
for  want  of  a  worse  word,  he  called  him  *  a  damned  dissipated 
subaltern.'  Well,  Roylance  just  stepped  back  so  as  to  make 
himself  heard,  and  shouted  coolly  :  *  Dissipated  !  that  comes 
well  from  yon,  sir,  considering  the  reason  for  the  singular  ar 
rangement  of  your  own  manage  > ''  with  which  he  handed  his 
sword  to  the  adjutant,  and  walked  off  to  his  quarters  !  You 


644  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

should  have  seen  Colquhoun's  face !  He  went  on  leave  im 
mediately  afterward,  and  of  course  the  matter  was  hushed 
up.  Roylance  exchanged.  He'd  lots  of  money.  It's^the 
men  without  means  that  have  to  stand  that  kind  of  thing." 

My  voice  was  husky  and  I  could  scarcely  control  it,  but  I 
managed  to  ask  :  "  What  was  the  insinuation  ?  " 

"  What,  about  Roylance  ?  Just  a  lie  !  The  lad's  life  was 
as  clean  as  a  lady's." 

"I  meant  about  the  marriage  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  Colquhoun  himself  told  us  all  about 
it  in  his  cups  one  night.  Just  as  they  were  starting  on  their 
wedding  trip  she  got  a  letter  containing  certain  allegations 
against  him,  and  she  gave  him  the  slip  at  the  station,  and 
went  off  by  herself  to  make  inquiries,  and  in  consequence  of 
what  she  learnt,  she  declined  to  live  with  him  at  all  at  first. 
But  he  has  a  great  horror  of  being  made  the  subject  of  gossip, 
you  know,  and  her  people  were  also  anxious  to  save  scandal, 
and  so,  between  them,  they  managed  to  persuade  her  just  to 
consent  to  live  in  the  house,  he  having  given  his  word  of  honour 
as  a  gentleman  not  to  molest  her  ;  and  that  has  been  the 
arrangement  ever  since.  Funny,  isn't  it?  'Truth  stranger 
than  fiction,'  you  know,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  Yet  it  seems 
to  answer.  They're  excellent  friends." 

The  parade  had  been  dismissed  by  this  time,  but  I  had 
changed  my  mind,  and  did  not  wait  to  see  Colonel  Colquhoun. 
I  had  to  hurry  back  to  make  arrangements  with  regard  to  my 
patients  in  the  hospital,  and  then  I  returned  to  town,  and 
midnight  saw  me  closeted  once  more  with  Sir  Shadwell  Rock. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  revolting  story  I  had  heard  in  the  barracks  haunted 
me.  I  had  thought  incessantly  of  my  poor  little  lady 
taken  out  of  the  school  room  to  face  a  position  which  would 
be  horrifying,  even  in  idea,  to  a  right  minded  woman  of  the 
world.  What  the  girl's  mental  sufferings  must  have  been  only 
a  girl  can  tell.  And  ever  since — the  incubus  of  that  elderly 
man  of  unclean  antecedents  !  All  that  had  been  incompre 
hensible  about  Evadne  was  obvious  now,  and  also  the  mistake 
she  had  made. 

During  the  most  important  part  of  the  time  when  a  woman 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS,  645 

is  ripe  for  her  best  experiences,  when  she  should  be  laying  in 
a  store  of  happy  memories  to  fall  back  upon,  when  memory 
becomes  her  principal  pleasure  in  life,  Evadne  had  lived 
alone,  shut  up  in  herself,  her  large  intelligence  idle  or  mis 
applied,  and  her  hungry  heart  seeking  such  satisfaction  as  it 
could  find  in  pleasant  imaginings.  As  she  went  about, 
punctually  performing  her  ineffectual  duties,  or  sat  silently 
sewing,  she  had  been  to  all  outward  seeming  an  example  to 
be  revered  of  graceful  wifehood  and  womanliness  ;  but  when 
one  came  to  know  what  her  inner  life  had  become  in  con 
sequence  of  the  fatal  repression  of  the  'best  powers  of  her 
mind,  it  was  evident  that  she  was  in  reality  a  miserable  type  of 
a  woman  wasted.  The  natural  bent  of  the  average  woman  is 
devotion  to  home  and  husband  and  children  ;  but  there  are 
many  women  to  whom  domestic  duties  are  distasteful,  and 
these  are  now  making  life  tolerable  for  themselves  by  finding 
more  congenial  spheres  of  action.  There  are  many  women, 
however,  above  the  average,  who  are  quite  capable  of  acquit 
ting  themselves  creditably  both  in  domestic  and  public  life, 
and  Evadne  was  one  of  these.  Had  she  been  happily  married 
she  would  undoubtedly  have  been  one  of  the  first  to  distin 
guish  herself,  one  of  the  foremost  in  the  battle  which  women 
are  waging  against  iniquity  of  every  kind.  Her  keen  insight 
would  have  kept  her  sympathies  actively  alive,  and  her  disin 
terestedness  would  have  made  her  careless  of  criticism.  That 
was  her  nature.  But  nature  thwarted  ceases  to  be  beneficent. 
She  places  us  here  fully  equipped  for  the  part  she  has 
designed  us  to  play  in  the  world,  and  if  we,  men  or  women, 
neglect  to  exercise  the  powers  she  has  bestowed  upon  us,  the 
consequences  are  serious.  I  did  not  understand  at  the  time 
what  Evadne  meant  when  she  said  that  she  had  made  it 
impossible  for  herself  to  act.  I  thought  she  had  deliberately 
shirked  her  duty  under  the  mistaken  idea  that  she  would 
make  life  pleasanter  for  herself  by  doing  so  ;  but  I  learnt 
eventually  how  the  impulse  to  act  had  been  curbed  before  it 
quickened,  by  her  promise  to  Colonel  Colquhoun,  which  had, 
in  effect,  forced  her  into  the  disastrous  attitude  which  we  had 
all  such  good  reason  to  deplore.  It  seemed  cruel  that  all  the 
most  beautiful  instincts  of  her  being,  her  affection,  her  unsel 
fishness,  even  her  modest  reserve  and  womanly  self-restraint, 
should  have  been  used  to  injure  her ;  but  that  is  exactly 
what  had  happened.  And  now  the  difficulty  was  :  how  to 
help  her  ?  How  to  rouse  her  from  the  unwholesome  form  of 


646  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

self-repression  which  had  brought  about  her  present  morbid 
state  of  mind. 

I  was  sitting  up  late  the  night  after  my  second  visit  to  Sir 
Shadwell  Rock,  considering  the  matter.  Sir  Shadwell's 
advice  was  still  the  same  :  "  Send  her  to  me."  But  the  initial 
difficulty,  how  to  get  her  to  go,  remained.  How  to  draw  her 
from  the  dreary  seclusion  of  her  Home  in  the  Woman  s  Sphere, 
and  persuade  her  that  hours  of  ease  are  only  to  be  earned  in 
action.  I  thought  again  of  Lady  Adeline,  and  sat  down  to 
write  to  her. 

The  household  had  retired,  and  the  night  was  oppressively 
silent.  I  felt  overcome  with  fatigue,  but  was  painfully  wide 
awake,  as  happens  very  often  when  I  am  anxious  about  a  bad 
case.  But  this  was  the  third  night  since  I  had  been  in  bed, 
and  I  thought  now  I  would  go  when  I  had  finished  my  letter 
to  Lady  Adeline,  and  do  my  best  to  sleep.  As  I  crossed  the 
hall,  which  was  in  darkness  save  for  the  candle  I  carried  in 
my  hand,  I  fancied  I  heard  an  unaccountable  sound,  a  dull 
thud,  thud,  coming  from  I  could  not  tell  whence  for  the 
moment.  The  senses  are  singularly  acute  in  certain  stages  of 
fatigue,  and  mine  were  all  alive  that  night  to  any  impression, 
my  hearing  especially  so  ;  and  there  was  no  mistake.  I  had 
stopped  short  to  listen,  and,  impossible  as  I  knew  it  would 
have  been  at  any  other  time,  I  was  sure  that  I  could  distinctly 
hear  a  horse  galloping  on  the  turf  of  the  common  more  than 
a  mile  away,  a  mounted  horse  with  a  rider  who  was  urging 
him  to  his  utmost  speed  ;  and  in  some  inexplicable  manner 
I  also  became  conscious  of  the  fact  that  the  horseman  was 
a  messenger  sent  in  all  haste  for  me. 

Mechanically  I  put  my  candle  down  and  opened  the  hall 
door.  It  was  a  bright  night.  The  fresh  invigorating  frosty 
air  seemed  to  clear  my  mental  vision  still  more  strongly  as  it 
blew  in  upon  me.  Diavolo  in  mess  dress,  his  cap  gone,  his 
fair  hair  blown  back  by  the  wind  ;  breathless  with  excitement 
and  speed  ;  with  thought  suspended,  but  dry  lips  uttering 
incessantly  a  cry  for  help — "  Galbraith  !  Galbraith  !  Gal- 
braith  !  "  My  pulses  kept  time  to  the  thud  of  the  horse's 
hoofs  on  the  common.  I  waited.  I  had  not  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt  that  I  was  wanted.  But  I  did  not  ask  myself  by 
whom. 

The  sound  only  ceased  for  a  perceptible  second  or  so  at  the 
lodge  gates.  Were  they  open  ?  Had  he  cleared  them  ?  What 
a  jump  !  Thud  !  He  must  be  well-mounted  !  On  the  drive 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  647 

now  !  The  gravel  is  flying  !  Across  the  lawn — Diavolo.  Good 
speed  indeed  ! 

Scarcely  five  minutes  since  I  heard  him  first  till  he  stopped 
at  the  steps  in  the  starlight,  hoarsely  panting  "  Galbraith  ! 
Galbraith  !  " 

"  I  am  here,  my  boy  !     What  is  it  ? " 

"  Come  !  Come  to  her  at  once  !  Colonel  Colquhoun  is 
dead." 

The  mind,  quickened  by  the  shock  of  a  startling  piece  of 
intelligence,  suddenly  sums  up  our  suspicions  for  us  sometimes 
in  one  crisp  homely  phrase.  This  is  what  mine  did.  "  The 
murder  is  out !  "  I  thought,  the  moment  Diavolo  spoke. 
Evadne — was  this  the  end  of  it  !  Such  a  state  of  mind  as 
hers  had  been  lately,  might  continue  for  the  rest  of  her  life, 
to  her  torment,  without  influencing  her  actions  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  an  active  phase  might  supervene  at  any  moment. 

Diavolo  had  dismounted  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  steps, 
utterly  exhausted.  "  Here,  take  the  reins,"  he  said,  "  and 
mount.  I'm  done.  I'll  look  after  myself.  Don't  waste  a 
moment." 

I  needed  no  urging. 

"  I  have  actually  meditated  murder  lately.  Murder — 
murder  for  my  own  benefit." 

The  horrible  phrases,  in  regular  succession,  kept  time  to  the 
rhythmical  ring  of  the  iron  shoes  on  the  frozen  ground  as  the 
horse  returned  with  me,  still  at  a  steady  gallop,  to  As-You- 
Like-It. 

I  had  recognized  the  animal.  It  was  the  same  fine  charger 
which  Colonel  Colquhoun  himself  had  been  riding  so  admira 
bly  on  parade  the  last  time  I  saw  him.  Only  yesterday 
morning  !  "  Murder  actually,  murder  for  my  own  benefit." 
No  !  no  ! — stumble.  Hold  up  !  only  a  stone.  Shall  we  ever 
be  there  ?  Suspense — "  Murder  actually  " — no,  it  shall 
not  be  that  !  Hope  is  the  word  I  want.  Beat  it  out  of  the 
hardened  earth  !  Hope,  hope,  hope,  hope,  nothing,  nothing 
but  hope  ! 

We  had  arrived  at  last.  No  one  about.  Doors  open,  lights 
flaring,  and  a  strange  silence. 

Leaving  the  horse  to  do  as  he  liked,  I  walked  straight  up- 
stairs,  and  on  the  first  landing  I  met  Evadne's  maid. 

"  I  hoped  it  was  you,  sir.  Come  this  way,"  she  whispered, 
and  pushed  open  a  door  which  stood  already  ajar,  gently,  as 
if  afraid  of  disturbing  some  sleeper. 


648  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

It  was  Colonel  Colquhoun's  bedroom,  large  and  luxurious, 
like  the  man  himself.  He  was  stretched  upon  the  bed,  in 
evening  dress,  his  gray  face  upward.  One  glance  at  that  suf 
ficed.  But  almost  before  I  had  crossed  the  threshold  I  was 
conscious  of  an  indescribable  sense  of  relief.  There  were 
four  persons  in  the  room,  that  poor  old  "begad  "  major,  who 
could  not  ride,  and  Captain  Bartlet,  both  hastily  summoned 
from  the  depot  evidently,  and  still  in  mess  dress ;  Dr.  James 
in  ordinary  morning  costume,  with  a  covert  coat  on  ;  and 
Evadne  herself  in  a  black  evening  dress,  open  at  the  throat. 
It  was  her  attitude  that  relieved  my 'mind  the  moment  I  saw 
her.  She  was  seated  beside  the  bed,  crying  heartily  and 
healthily.  The  three  gentlemen  stood  just  behind  her,  gravely 
concerned  ;  silent,  sympathetic,  helpless,  waiting  for  me.  No 
one  spoke. 

For  the  dead,  reverence.  I  stood  by  the  bed  looking  down 
on  the  splendid  frame,  prone  now  and  inert,  and  again  I 
thought  of  the  last  time  I  had  seen  him,  a  fine  figure  of  a 
man,  finely  mounted,  and  exercising  his  authority  arrogantly. 
I  looked  into  the  blank  countenance.  No  other  man  on  earth 
had  ever  called  forth  curses  from  my  inmost  soul  such  as  I 
had  uttered,  to  my  shame,  in  one  great  burst  of  rage  that  had 
surprised  me  and  shaken  my  fortitude  the  night  before  as  I 
journeyed  back  alone,  without  the  slightest  prospect,  that  I 
could  see,  of  saving  her.  The  blank  face,  decently  composed. 
His  right  hand,  palm  upward,  was  stretched  out  toward  me 
as  if  he  were  offering  it  to  me  ;  and  thankful  I  was  to  feel  that 
I  could  clasp  it  honestly.  I  had  not  a  word  or  look  on  my 
conscience  for  which  I  deserved  a  reproach  from  the  dead 
man  lying  there.  I  took  his  hand  :  a  doctor  doing  a  per 
functory  duty  ?  No,  a  last  natural  rite,  an  act  of  reconcilia 
tion.  In  that  solemn  moment,  still  holding  his  hand  and  gaz 
ing  down  into  his  face,  I  rejoiced  to  feel  that  the  trouble  had 
passed  from  my  soul,  that  the  rage  and  bitterness  were  no 
more,  and  that  only  the  touching  thought  of  his  kindly  hos 
pitality  and  perfect  confidence  in  my  own  integrity— a  confi 
dence  impossible  in  a  man  who  has  not  himself  the  saving 
grace  of  a  better  nature— would  remain  with  me  from  that 
time  forth  forever. 

I  laid  my  hand  on  Evadne's  shoulder,  and  she  looked  up. 

"  Ah  !  have  you  come  ?  "  she  cried,  her  voice  broken  with 
sobs  that  shook  her.  "  Is  it  really  true  ?  Can  nothing  be 
done  ?  Oh,  poor,  poor  man  !  What  a  life  !  What  a  death  ! 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  649 

A  miserable,  miserable,  misspent  life,  and  such  an  end — in  a 
moment — without  a  word  of  warning — and  all  these  years 
when  I  have  been  beside  him,  silent  and  helpless.  If  only  I 
could  have  done  something  to  help  him — said  something. 
Surely,  surely  there  was  something  I  might  have  done  ?  "  She 
held  her  clasped  hands  out  toward  me,  the  familiar  gesture, 
appealing  to  me  to  blame  her. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  I  inwardly  ejaculated.  "  This  is  as  it 
should  be." 

In  the  presence  of  eternal  death,  her  own  transient  suffer 
ings  were  forgotten,  and  healthy  human  pity  destroyed  any 
sense  of  personal  injury  she  might  have  cherished. 

We  four  men  stood  awkwardly,  patiently  by  for  several 
minutes,  listening  to  her  innocent  self-upbraidings,  knowing 
her  story,  and  touched  beyond  expression  by  the  utter  absence 
of  all  selfish  sentiment  in  any  word  she  said. 

When  she  was  quite  exhausted,  I  drew  her  hand  through 
my  arm,  and  took  her  to  her  own  room. 

Cardiac  syncope  was  the  cause  of  death.  Colonel  Colqu- 
houn  had  been  out  that  evening,  and  had,  through  some  mis 
take  of  the  coachman's,  missed  his  carriage,  and  walked  home 
in  a  towering  rage.  The  exertion  and  excitement,  acting 
together  on  a  heart  already  affected,  had  brought  on  the 
attack.  He  was  storming  violently  in. the  hall,  with  his  face 
flushed  crimson — so  the  servants  told  us — when  all  at  once 
he  stopped,  and  called  "  Evadne  !  "  twice,  as  if  in  alarm;  and 
Mrs.  Colquhoun  ran  down  from  the  drawing  room ;  but 
before  she  could  reach  him  he  fell  on  the  floor,  and  never 
spoke  again. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

MUCH  of  my  time  during  the  next  few  months  was  devoted 
to  the  consideration  of  Evadne's  affairs.  Her  father 
made  no  sign,  and  she  had  no  other  relation  in  a  position  to 
come  forward  and  share  the  responsibility  ;  but,  happily,  she 
had  very  good  friends.  I  had  noticed  that  Diavolo  was  singu 
larly  agitated  when  he  brought  the  terrible  news  that  night  to 
Fountain  Towers,  but  thought  little  of  it,  as  I  knew  the  boy  to 
be  emotional.  The  shock  to  his  own  feelings  did  not,  how 
ever,  prevent  him  thinking  of  others,  and  the  next  thing  I 
heard  of  him  was  that  he  had  been  to  Morningquest  and  waited 
till  the  telegraph  office  opened,  in  order  to  send  the  news  to 


6$0  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

his  own  people,  and  beg  them  to  return  at  once,  if  they 
could,  on  Evadne's  account  ;  and  this  they  did,  in  the  kindest 
manner,  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 

"  I  have  only  come  to  fetch  Evadne,"  Lady  Adeline  said 
when  she  arrived.  "  I  am  going  to  take  her  away  at  once 
from  this  dreadful  house  and  this  dreary  English  winter  to  a 
land  of  sunshine  and  flowers  and  soft  airs,  and  I  hope  to 
bring  her  back  in  the  spring  herself  again — &<*> you  have  never 
known  her  !  " 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  stayed  behind,  at  considerable  personal 
inconvenience,  to  consult  with  me  about  business.  Colonel 
Colquhoun  had  died  intestate  and  also  in  debt.  What  he  had 
done  with  his  money  we  could  not  make  out,  except  that  a  large 
sum  had  been  sunk  in  an  annuity,  which  of  course  died  with 
him.  But  one  thing  was  quite  evident,  which  was  that  Evadne 
would  have  little  or  nothing  besides  her  pension  from  the 
service,  and  that  would  be  the  merest  pittance  for  one  always 
accustomed  to  the  command  of  money  as  she  had  been.  Mr. 
Hamilton-Wells  wished  to  impose  a  handsome  sum  on  her 
yearly  by  fraud  and  deceit,  out  of  his  own  ample  income. 

"  Really,  ladies  are  so  peculiar  about  money  matters,"  he 
said.  "  I  feel  quite  sure  she  would  not  accept  sixpence  from 
me  if  I  were  to  offer  it  to  her.  But  she  need  not  know 
where  the  money  comes  from.  It  can  be  paid  into  her 
account  at  the  bank,  you  see,  regularly,  and  she  will  take  it 
for  granted  that  she  is  entitled  to  it." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  I  answered  with  some  heat, 
"  but  at  any  rate  the  plan  is  not  possible." 

"  Now,  my  dear  Galbraith,"  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  remon 
strated,  "  do  not  put  your  foot  down  in  that  way.  I  am  the 
older  man,  and  I  may  also  say,  without  offence,  the  older 
friend,  and  I  am  married  ;  and  Lady  Adeline  will  strongly 
approve  of  what  I  propose." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  I  maintained  ;  "  but  it  cannot  be 
done." 

'  She  is  not  the  kind  of  person  to  marry  for  money,"  Mr. 
Hamilton-Wells  observed,  looking  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"Who?  Mrs.  Colquhoun?"  I  asked.  "I  don't  under 
stand  you." 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  "  it  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  be 
thinking  such  a  consideration  would  weigh  with  her  in  the 
choice  of  a  second  husband." 

I  stared  at  the  maq.     He  was  sitting  at  a  writing  table  in 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  651 

my  library,  with  the  papers  we  had  been  going  through  spread 
out  before  him,  and  I  was  standing  opposite  ;  and,  as  he  spoke, 
he  leant  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  elbows  on  the  arms  of  it, 
brought  the  tips  of  his  long  white  fingers  together,  and  smiled 
up  at  me,  bland  as  a  child,  innocent  of  all  offence.  I  am  in 
clined  to  think  he  did  secretly  enjoy  the  effect  of  unexpected 
remarks  without  in  the  least  appreciating  the  permanent 
impression  he  might  be  making.  But  I  don't  know.  Some  of 
these  apparently  haphazard  observations  of  his  were  pregnant 
with  reflection,  and  I  believe,  if  his  voice  had  been  strong  and 
determined  instead  of  precise  and  insinuating ;  if  he  had 
brushed  his  hair  up,  instead  of  parting  it  in  the  middle  and 
plastering  it  down  smoothly  on  either  side  of  his  head  ;  if  his 
hands  had  been  hardened  by  exposure  and  use  instead  of 
whitened  by  excessive  care  ;  if  he  had  worn  tweed  instead  of 
velvet,  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  would  have  been  called  acute,  and 
dreaded  for  his  cynicism.  But  looking  as  he  did,  inoffensive 
as  a  lady's  luggage,  he  was  allowed  to  pass  unsuspected  ;  and 
if  his  mind  were  an  infernal  machine,  concealed  by  a  quilted 
cover,  the  world  would  have  to  have  seen  it  to  credit  the  fact. 

I  put  my  hands  in  my  pockets  after  that  last  remark,  and 
walked  to  the  window  glumly;  but  as  I  stood  with  my  back  to 
him,  I  could  not  help  wondering  if  he  was  making  faces  at 
me,  or  up  to  any  other  undignified  antics  by  way  of  relaxation. 
Did  he  ever  wriggle  with  merriment  when  he  was  alone  ?  I 
turned  suddenly  at  the  thought.  He  was  calmly  perusing 
a  paper  through  his  pince-nez,  with  an  expression  of  counte 
nance  at  once  so  benign,  silly,  and  self-satisfied,  that  I  felt  I 
should  like  to  have  apologised  for  the  suspicion. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  it,  Galbraith,"  she  said,  "  that  I  can 
see.  She  must  either  be  poverty-stricken  or  have  an  income 
provided  for  her." 

"  She  has  enough  to  go  on  with  for  the  present,"  I  answered. 

"  You  can  provide  the  money  yourself  if  you  would  rather," 
he  suggested,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  gives  in  good-naturedly 
to  oblige  you.  "  I  don't  care,  you  know,  where  the  money 
comes  from,  so  long  as  the  source  is  disinterested  and  respect 
able." 

I  had  returned  to  the  table,  but  now  again  I  walked  to  the 
window. 

"But,  I  think,"  he  continued,  while  I  stood  with  my  back  to 
him,  "  as  you  say,  for  the  present  nothing  need  be  done.  Give 
her  time  for  a  rope— eh?  What  I  do  deprecate  is  leaving  her 


652  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

to   be   driven   by  poverty   to   marry   for   money.      My  dear 

Galbraith,"  he  broke  off,  protesting,  "you  have  been  on  the 

prance  for  the  last  half-hour.     For  a  medical  man,  you  have 

less  repose  of  manner  than  is  essential,  I  should  say.     In  fact, 

j  you  quite  give  me  the  notion  that  you  are    impatient.     But 

,  perhaps  I  am  detaining  you  ? " 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  I  assured  him. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,"  he  pursued,  "  give  her  time  to 
marry  again.  That  would  be  the  most  satisfactory  settlement 
of  her  difficulties.  She  is,  I  quite  agree  with  you,  a  very  at 
tractive  person.  Now,  there  is  the  Duke  of  Panama  already, 
Lady  Adeline  says — but  she  seems  to  have  an  objection  to 
princes,  especially  if  they  are  at  all  obese.  I  do  not  like  obese 
people  myself.  Now,  do  you  ever  feel  nervous  on  that  score  ?  " 

"  What  score  ? " 

"  The  score  of  obesity.  You  are  just  nicely  proportioned 
at  present  for  a  man  of  your  age  and  height.  7,  of  course, 
am  far  too  slender.  But  if  you  were  to  get  any  stouter  by 
and  by,  it  would  be  such  a  dreadful  thing!  I  hope  flesh  is 
not  in  your  family  on  both  sides.  On  one  I  know  it  is.  Now, 
my  people  are  all  slender.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  that,  I 
notice." 

He  was  doing  up  the  documents  now  with  much  neatness 
and  dexterity. 

"  These  had  better  go  to  my  lawyer,"  he  remarked. 

"  Why  not  to  mine?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Oh,  allow  me,"  he  said,  with  great  suavity — "  as  the  older 
man.  Of  course,  as  a  question  of  right,  we  neither  of  us  have 
any  claim  to  the  privilege  of  being  avowed  to  help  this  lady. 
Eventually,  however,  one  of  us  may  secure  the  right;  but 
there  is  many  a  slip,  you  know,  and  perhaps  it  would  be  less 
awkward  afterward  if  a  person  whose  disinterestedness  is 
quite  above  suspicion  had  had  the  direction  of  affairs  from  the 
first." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  what  he  meant  by  this  time,  and 
the  argument  was  unanswerable. 

"  Do  you  feel  inclined  to  return  with  me  to  Mentone  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  get  away  just  now." 

"Ah!  I  suppose  it  is  too  soon.  Well,  she  is  quite  safe 
with  us,  and  we  will  bring  her  back  to  Hamilton  House  in  the 
spring."  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  smiled  complacently  as  he  took 
his  seat  in  his  carnage.  I  almost  expected  him  to  thank  me 


THE   HEAVENLY    TWINS.  653 

for  the  sport  I  had  been  giving  him,  he  looked  so  like  a  man 
who  had  been  enjoying  himself  thoroughly.  I  thought  about 
that  last  remark  of  his  after  he  had  gone,  and  pitied  Lady 
Adeline.  It  must  be  trying  to  be  liable  at  any  moment  to 
have  words,  which  one  deliberately  chooses  to  hide  one's 
thoughts,  set  aside  as  of  no  consequence,  and  the  thoughts 
themselves  answered  naively.  However,  there  was  no  real 
reason  for  hiding  my  thoughts  any  longer  on  that  subject.  I 
had  done  my  best  manfully,  I  hope,  while  the  necessity  lasted, 
to  mask  my  feeling  for  her,  even  from  myself ;  but  there  was 
now  no  further  need  for  self-restraint.  I  might  live  for  her 
and  love  her  honestly  and  openly  at  last ;  and,  accordingly, 
when  Sir  Shadwell  Rock  came  to  me  for  a  few  days  at  Christ 
mas,  I  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  my  intention  from  him. 

"  It  is  a  great  risk,"  he  said  gravely,  "  a  very  great  risk.  Of 
course,  now  that  the  first  cause  of  all  the  trouble  is  removed, 
the  mental  health  may  be  thoroughly  restored.  So  long  as 
there  is  no  organic  brain  lesion  there  is  hope  in  all  such  cases. 
But  I  tell  you  frankly  that  the  first  call  upon  her  physical 
strength  may  set  up  a  recurrence  of  the  moral  malady,  and 
you  cannot  foresee  the  consequences.  However,  you  know  as 
much  about  that  as  I  do,  and  I  can  see  it's  no  use  warning  you. 
You  have  made  up  your  mind." 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "I  shall  be  able  to  take  good  care  of 
her  if  only  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  win  her." 

"  Well,  well,  she  seems  to  be  a  loyal  little  body,"  the  old 
gentleman  replied  ;  "  and  I  wish  you  success  with  all  my  heart. 
She  will  have  much  in  her  favour  as  your  wife,  and  since  you 
are  determined  to  run  the  risk,  let  us  hope  for  the  best." 

And  that  was  just  what  I  did  while  I  waited  for  the  spring, 
and  to  such  good  purpose  that  I  became  light-hearted  as  a 
schoolboy.  I  watched  the  birds  building  ;  I  noticed  the  first 
faint  green  shadow  on  the  hedges,  and  the  yellowing  of  the 
gorse  ;  I  listened  in  the  freshness  of  the  dawn  to  the  thrush 
that  sang  "  Evadne."  And  when  at  last  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells 
walked  in  one  day  unexpectedly,  and  explained,  somewhat 
superfluously,  that  he  had  come,  I  could  have  thrown  up  my 
hat  and  cheered  ! 

"  But  without  the  ladies,"  he  added. 

"  Have  you  left  them  behind  you  ? "  I  demanded,  trying  not 
to  look  blank. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  very  slowly,  then  added  :  "At  Hamil 
ton  House,"  I  suppose  nobody  ever  thought  of  kicking  any- 


654  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

thing  so  "  slender  "  as  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells,  or  associated  such 
a  vulgar  idea  as  would  have  been  involved  in  the  suspicion  of 
a  deliberate  intention  to  ''sell"  you  with  a  person  of  such 
courteous  and  distinguished  manners.  But  one  did  occasion 
ally  wonder  what  he  was  like  at  school,  and  if  blessings  and 
abuse  were  often  showered  on  him  then  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  as  had  come  to  be  the  case  in  later  life. 

He  had  come  to  ask  me  to  dinner  that  evening,  and  when  I 
arrived  he  was  standing  on  the  hearthrug,  gracefully,  with  a 
palm-leaf  fan  in  his  hand.  Evadne  greeted  me  quietly,  Lady 
Adeline  with  affectionate  cordiality,  and  Diavolo,  who  was  the 
only  other  member  of  the  party,  with  a  grave  yet  bright 
demeanour  which  made  him  more  like  his  Uncle  Dawne  in 
miniature  than  ever. 

"  '  In  the  spring,'  "  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  observed  precisely, 
waving  his  fan  to  emphasise  each  word,  and  addressing  a 
remote  angle  of  the  cornice,  "'In  the  spring  a  young  man's 
fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love.'" 

Diavolo  flushed  crimson,  Lady  Adeline  looked  annoyed,  but 
Evadne  sat  pale  and  still,  as  if  she  had  not  heard. 

I  was  right  about  her  not  being  likely  to  leave  her  affairs  in 
anybody's  hands.  Very  soon  after  her  arrival  she  insisted 
upon  having  an  accurate  statement  of  accounts,  and  begged  me 
to  go  over  to  Hamilton  House  one  morning  to  render  it,  as  she 
found  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  quite  unapproachable  on  the  subject. 

She  received  me  in  the  morning  room  alone,  and  began  at 
once  in  the  most  business-like  way.  "  Mr.  Hamilton-Wells' 
reticence  convinces  me  that  I  am  a  beggar,"  she  said  cheer 
fully.  "  Tell  me  the  exact  sum  I  have  to  depend  upon  ?  " 

I  named  it. 

"  Oh,  then,"  she  proceeded,  "  the  question  is,  What  shall  I 
do  ?  I  cannot  possibly  live  in  the  world,  you  know,  on  such  a 
sum  as  that." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  I  asked,  her  tone  having 
suggested  some  definite  plan  already  formed. 

"  Go  into  a  sisterhood,  I  think,"  she  answered. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

She  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said.  "  But  you  are  not  fit  for  such 
a  life.  Why,  in  a  month  you  would  be  seeing  visions  and 
dreaming  dreams." 

"  But  I  am  afraid  I  shall  do  that  now  in  any  case,  wherever 
I  am,"  she  sighed  ;  and  then  she  added,  smiling  at  her  own 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  655 

cynicism  ;  "  and  I  think  I  had  better  go  where  such  things 
can  be  turned  to  good  account.  I  have  had  no  horrid  thoughts, 
by  the  way,  since  I  left  As-You-Like-It,  but  of  course  I  shall 
relapse." 

"  No,  you  will  not,"  I  blurted  out,  "  if  you  marry  happily." 

Her  face  flushed  all  over  at  the  word. 

"  Will  you,  Evadne,"  I  proceeded — "  or  rather  could  you — 
be  happy  with  me  ?  "  She  rose,  and  made  me  a  deep  courtesy. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  answered  scornfully,  "  for  your  kind  con 
sideration,  Sir  George  Galbraith  !  I  always  thought  you  the 
most  disinterested  person  I  ever  knew,  but  I  had  no  idea  that 
even  you  could  go  so  far  as  that  !  " 

And  then  she  left  me  alone  with  my  consternation. 

How  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  perplexing  had  I  offended 
her? 

Lady  Adeline  came  in  at  that  moment,  and  I  put  the  ques 
tion  to  her,  telling  her  exactly  what  I  had  said.  She  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  My  dear  George  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  forgive  me  !  I  can't 
help  it  !  But  don't  you  think  yourself  you  were  a  little  bit 
abrupt  ?  You  do  not  seem  to  have  mentioned  the  fact  that 
you  feel  any  special  affection  for  Evadne.  It  did  not  occur  to 
you  to  protest  that  you  loved  her,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  No,  it  did  not,"  I  answered  ;  "  I  should  think  that  the  fact 
is  patent  enough  without  protestations." 

"  She  may  have  overlooked  it,  all  the  same,"  Lady  Adeline 
suggested,  still  laughing  at  me.  "  I  would  advise  you  to  find 
out  the  next  time  you  have  a  chance." 

"  Where  is  she  ? "  I  demanded,  going  toward  the  door. 

"  Oh,  you  won't  see  her  again  to-day,  you  may  be  sure,"  she 
rejoined  ;  "  and  it  is  just  as  well,  you  bear,  if  you  mean  to 
make  love  to  her  with  that  kind  of  countenance  ! " 

But  I  would  not  be  advised. 

I  strode  straight  up  to  her  room,  which  I  happened  toknovr 
and  knocked  at  the  door. 

She  answered  "  Come  in  !  "  evidently  not  expecting  me,  and 
when  she  saw  who  it  was  she  was  furious. 

"  I  cannot  understand  what  you  mean  by  such  conduct !  " 
she  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  make  you  understand  !  "  I  retorted. 

Mr.  Hamilton-Wells  insinuated  afterward  that  Evadne  only 
accepted  me  to  save  her  life.  But  I  protested  against  the 
libel.  J  have  never,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  uttered  a  rough 


6.,6  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  TWINS. 

word  either  to  or  before  my  little  lady  in  the  whole  course  of 
our  acquaintance.  But  why,  when  she  loved  me,  she  should 
I  have  gone  off  in  that  ridiculous  tantrum  simply  because  I  did 
not  begin  by  expressing  my  love  for  her,  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  understand.  She  might  have  been  sure  that  I  should  have 
enough  to  say  on  that  subject  as  soon  as  I  was  accepted. 

The  day  after  the  engagement  was  announced  Diavolo 
called  upon  me.  Needless  to  say  he  found  me  in  the  seventh 
heaven.  I  had  been  walking  about  the  house,  unable  to  settle 
to  anything,  and  when  I  heard  he  had  come  I  thought  it  was 
to  congratulate  me,  and  I  hurried  down;  but  the  first  glimpse 
of  his  face  caused  my  heart  to  contract  ominously. 

"  Well,  you  have  played  me  a  nice  trick,"  he  said,  with 
concentrated  bitterness,  "  both  of  you.  You  knew  what  my 
intentions  were  and  you  gave  me  no  hint  of  your  own.  You 
preferred  to  steal  a  march  on  me.  I  could  not  have  imagined 
such  a  thing  possible  from  you.  I  should  have  supposed  that 
you*  would  have  thought  such  underhand  conduct  low." 

"  Diavolo  !  "  I  gasped,  "  are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

"Am  I  in  earnest !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Look  at  me  !  I  sup 
pose  you  think  I  am  incapable  of  deep  feeling." 

"  If  only  I  had  known  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Yet — how  could 
I  guess?  The  difference  of  age — and,  Diavolo,  my  dear  boy, 
believe  me,  I  do  sympathise  with  you  most  sincerely.  This  is 
a  bitter  drop  in  the  cup  for  me.  But — but — even  if  I  had 
known — will  it  make  it  worse  for  you  if  I  say  it  ? — it  is  me 
she  loves.  She  would  not  have  accepted  anyone  but  me. 
Even  if  I  had  withdrawn  in  your  favour " 

He  waved  his  hand  to  stop  me.  "  Don't  distress  yourself," 
he  said.  "  It  is  fate.  We  are  to  be  punished  with  extinction 
as  a  family  for  the  sins  of  our  forefathers.  My  case  will  be 
the  same  as  Uncle  Dawne's — only,"  he  added  suddenly,  and 
clenched  his  fists,  "  only,  if  you  treat  her  badly,  I'll  blow  your 
brains  out." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  I  answered. 

He  looked  hard  at  me  with  a  pained  expression  in  his  eyes. 
"  Ah,  I'm  a  fool,"  he  said  ;  "  forgive  me  !  I  don't  know  what 
I'm  saying.  I'm  mad  with  disappointment,  and  grief,  and 
rage.  Of  course,  if  she  loves  you,  I  never  had  a  chance.  Yet 
the  possibility  of  giving  me  one,  had  you  known,  occurred  to 
you.  Well,  I  will  show  you  that  I  can  be  as  generous  as  you 
are."  He  held  out  his  hand.  "  I — I  congratulate  you,"  he 
faltered.  "  Only,  make  her  happy.  But  I  know  you  will." 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  65 7 

He  felt  about  for  his  hat,  and,  having  found  it,  walked  with 
an  uncertain  step  toward  the  door,  blinded  with  tears. 
I  stood  long  as  he  had  left  me. 

Ah,  brother  !  have  you  not  full  oft 
Found,  even  as  the  Roman  did, 
That  in  life's  most  delicious  draught 
Surgit  amari  aliquid? 

Lady  Adeline  met  me  sadly  the  next  time  I  went  to  Hamil 
ton  House. 

"  Do  you  blame  me?  "  I  faltered. 

"  No,  oh,  no  !  "  she  generously  responded.  "  None  of  us — 
not  one  of  us — not  even  Angelica,  suspected  for  a  moment  that 
he  was  in  earnest.  It  had  been  his  wolf-cry,  you  know,  all 
his  life.  Evadne  herself  has  no  inkling  of  the  truth." 

"  I  hope  she  never  will,"  I  said. 

"  If  it  rests  with  Diavolo,  she  will  not,"  his  mother  answered, 
proud  of  him,  and  with  good  cause. 

It  is  a  salient  feature  of  the  Morningquest  family  history 
that  not  one  of  them  ever  had  a  great  grief  which  they  did 
not  make  in  the  long  run  a  source  of  joy  to  other  people. 
Diavolo's  first  impulse  was  to  go  and  see  service  abroad;  but 
he  soon  abandoned  that  idea,  although  it  would  have  afforded 
him  the  distraction  he  so  sorely  needed,  and  resigned  his  com 
mission  instead;  and  then  took  up  his  abode  at  Morne,  in 
order  to  devote  himself  to  his  grandfather  entirely,  and  it  was 
in  Diavolo's  companionship  that  the  latter  found  the  one 
great  pleasure  and  solace  of  his  declining  years.  The  old  duke 
had  been  wont  to  say  of  Diavolo  at  his  worst :  "That  lad  is  a 
gentleman  at  heart,  and,  mark  my  words,  he  will  prove  himself 
so  yet  !  " 

And  so  he  has. 

His  was  the  first  and  loveliest  present  Evadne  received.  He 
did  not  come  to  her  second  wedding,  but,  then,  nobody  else 
did  except  his  father  and  mother,  for  it  pleased  us  all  to  keep 
the  ceremony  as  quiet  and  private  as  possible ;  so  that  his 
absence  was  not  significant ;  and,  afterward,  he  rather  made 
a  point,  if  anything,  of  not  avoiding  us  in  any  way.  In  fact, 
the  only  change  I  noticed  in  him  was  that  he  never  again 
made  any  of  those  laughing  protestations  of  love  and  devotion 
to  Evadne  with  which  he  used  to  amuse  us  all  in  the  dark  days 
of  her  captivity. 


658  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WE  were  married  in  London,  and  when  the  final  arrange- 
ments  were  being  discussed,  I  asked  her  where  she 
would  like  to  go  after  the  ceremony. 

"  Oh,  let  us  go  home,  Don,"  she  said — she  insisted  on  call 
ing  me  "  Don."  I  told  her  the  name  conveyed  no  idea  to  me, 
but  she  answered  that  I  was  obtuse,  and  she  was  sure  I  should 
grow  to  love  it  in  time,  even  if  I  did  not  understand  it,  if  it 
were  only  because  it  was  fetish,  and  nobody  could  use  it  but 
herself ;  to  which  extent,  by  the  way,  I  was  very  soon  able  to 
endorse  her  opinion.  "  Don't  let  us  go  to  nasty  foreign  hotels. 
I  hate  travelling,  and  I  hate  sight-seeing — the  kind  of  sight 
seeing  one  does  for  the  sake  of  seeing.  We  will  go  home  and 
be  happy.  No  place  could  be  half  so  beautiful  to  me  as  yours 
is  now." 

That  she  should  call  it  "  home  "  at  once,  and  long  to  be 
settled  there,  was  a  good  omen,  I  thought.  But  she  was 
happy,  beyond  all  possibility  of  a  doubt,  in  the  anticipation  of 
her  life  with  me. 

Soon  after  our  return  I  took  her  into  Morningquest,  and  left 
her  to  lunch  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Orton  Beg.  I  had  business 
on  the  other  side  of  the  city  which  detained  me  for  some  hours, 
and  when  at  last  I  could  get  away,  I  hurried  back,  being 
naturally  impatient  to  rejoin  her.  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  alone 
in  the  drawing  room,  and  I  suppose  something  in  the  expres 
sion  of  my  face  amused  her,  for  she  laughed,  and  answered  a 
question  1  had  not  asked. 

"  Out  there,"  she  said,  meaning  in  the  garden. 

I  turned  and  looked  through  the  open  French  window,  and 
instantly  that  haunting  ghost  of  an  indefinite  recollection  was 
laid.  Evadne  was  sleeping  in  a  high-backed  chair,  with  the 
creeper-curtained  old  brick  wall  for  a  background,  and  half 
her  face  concealed  by  a  large  summer  hat  which  she  held  in 
her  hand. 

"  I  thought  you  would  remember  when  you  saw  her  so," 
said  Mrs.  Orton  Beg.  "  It  was  just  after  that  unhappy  mar 
riage  fiasco.  She  had  run  away,  and  sought  an  asylum  here, 
and  when  you  were  so  struck  by  her  appearance,  I  could  not 
help  thinking  it  was  a  thousand  pities  that  you  had  not  met 
before  it  was  too  late." 

"  And  then  you  asked  me  to  use  the  Scottish  gift  of  second 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  659 

sight— I  was  thinking  at  the  moment  that  she  was  the  kind  of 
girlie  I  should  choose  for  a  wife,  and  so  I  said  she  should 
marry  a  man  called  George- " 

"  Which  made  it  doubly  a  Delphic  oracle  for  vagueness  to 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Orton  Beg,  "because  Colonel  Colquhoun's 
name  was  also  George." 

"  Now,  this  is  a  singular  coincidence !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  ejaculated.  "  But  I  do  not  talk  of  '  coin 
cidences ' — there  is  a  special  providence,  you  know." 

"  Which  deserts  Edith  and  protects  Evadne  ?  " 

"  You  are  incorrigible  !  " 

"  You  are  a  demon  worshipper  !  The  Infinite  Good  gives  us 
the  knowledge  and  power  if  we  will  use  it.  Evadne  was 
a  Seventh  Wave  !  " 

" '  The  Seventh  Waves  of  humanity  must  suffer,'  you  said." 
We  looked  at  each  other.  "  The  oracle  was  ominous.  But 
surely  she  has  suffered  enough  ?  Heaven  grant  her  happiness 
at  last !  " 

"  Amen,"  I  answered  fervently. 

As  soon  as  we  were  settled,  I  tried  to  order  her  life  so  as  to 
take  her  mind  completely  out  of  the  old  groove.  I  kept  her 
constantly  out  of  doors,  and  never  let  her  sit  and  sew  alone, 
for  one  thing,  or  lounge  in  easy  chairs,  or  do  anything  else 
that  is  enervating. 

I  made  her  ride,  too,  and  rise  regularly  in  the  morning;  not 
too  early,  for  that  is  as  injurious  in  one  way  as  too  late  is  in 
another  ;  the  latter  enervates,  but  the  former  exhausts. 
Regularity  is  the  best  discipline.  I  taught  her  also  to  shoot 
at  a  mark,  and  took  her  into  the  coverts  in  the  autumn ;  but 
she  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  suffering  creatures,  and 
unfortunately  she  wounded  a  bird  the  first  time  we  were  out, 
and  I  was  never  able  to  persuade  her  to  shoot  at  another. 
However,  there  was  active  exercise  enough  for  her  without 
that,  so  long  as  she  was  able  to  take  it,  and  when  it  became 
necessary  to  curtail  the  amount,  she  drove  both  morning  and 
afternoon,  and  took  short  walks  and  pottered  about  the 
grounds  in  between  times. 

I  had  bought  As-You-Like-It  while  she  was  abroad  with  the 
Hamilton-Wellses,  and  had  had  the  whole  place  pulled  down, 
and  the  site  converted  into  a  plantation,  so  that  no  trace  was 
left  of  that  episode  to  vex  her.  In  fact,  I  had  done  all  that 
I  could  think  of  as  likely  in  any  way  to  help  to  re-establish 
her  health,  and  certainly  she  was  very  happy.  Everything 


660  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

I  wished  her  to  do  seemed  to  be  a  pleasure  to  her;  and  mind 
and  body  grew  rapidly  so  vigorous  that  I  lost  all  fear  for 
her.  She  said  she  was  a  new  creature,  and  she  looked  it. 

When  we  had  been  married  about  a  year,  Sir  Shadwell  Rock 
came  to  pay  us  a  visit.  Evadne  was  quite  at  her  best  then, 
and  I  introduced  her  to  him  triumphantly. 

He  asked  about  her  progress  with  kindly  interest  when  we 
were  alone  together,  and  declared  heartily  that  she  was  cer 
tainly  to  all  appearance  thoroughly  restored,  that  he  was  quite 
in  love  with  her  himself,  and  hoped  to  see  her  in  the  van  of 
the  new  movement  yet. 

She  took  to  the  dear  old  man,  and  told  him  his  great 
reputation  did  not  frighten  her  one  bit;  and  she  would  lean 
on  his  arm  familiarly  out  in  the  grounds,  pelt  him  with  gorse 
blossom,  fill  his  pockets  with  rose  leaves  surreptitiously,  till 
they  bulged  out  like  bags  behind,  and  keep  him  smiling  per 
petually  at  her  pretty  ways.  He  had  been  going  abroad  for 
a  holiday,  but  we  persuaded  him  to  stay  with  us  instead,  and 
when  we  parted  with  him  at  last  reluctantly,  he  declared  that 
Evadne  had  made  him  young  again,  and  the  wrinkles  were  all 
smoothed  out. 

His  last  words  to  me  were :  "  So  far  so  good,  Galbraith," 
and  I  knew  he  meant  to  warn  as  well  as  to  congratulate. 
"  Don't  keep  her  in  cotton  wool  too  much.  Make  her  face 
sickness  and  suffering  while  she  is  well  herself.  Take  warn 
ing  by  the  small-pox  epidemic.  She  has  no  morbid  horror  of 
that  subject,  because  she  knows  practically  how  much  can  be 
done  for  the  sufferers.  If  she  devote  herself  to  good  works, 
she  will  be  sanguine  because  so  much  is  being  accomplished, 
instead  of  dwelling  despondently  on  the  hopeless  amount 
there  is  still  to  do." 

Soon  after  this,  however,  I  began  to  hope  that  a  new  interest 
in  life  was  coming  to  cure  her  of  all  morbid  moods  for  ever. 
I  was  anxious  at  first,  but  she  was  so  quietly  happy  in  the 
prospect  herself,  and  she  continued  so  well  in  spite  of  the 
drain  upon  her  strength,  that  I  soon  took  heart  again. 

"  You  have  got  to  be  very  young,  Don,  since  I  was  so  good 
as  to  marry  you,"  she  said  to  me  one  day. 

She  had  come  in  with  some  flowers  for  me,  and  had  caught 
me  whistling  instead  of  working. 

Sir  Shadwell  had  consented,  in  his  usual  kind  and  generous 
way,  to  share  the  responsibility  of  this  time  with  me.  He 
came  down  to  us  for  an  occasional  "  week-end,"  just  to  see 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  66 1 

how  she  progressed,  and  his  observations,  like  my  own,  con 
tinued  to  be  satisfactory.  It  was  a  crucial  test,  we  knew.  If  we 
could  carry  her  safely  through  this  trying  time,  she  would  be 
able  to  take  her  proper  place  with  the  best  of  her  sex  in  the 
battle  of  life,  to  fight  with  them  and  for  them,  which  was  what 
we  both  ardently  desired  to  see  her  do. 

There  had  been  never  a  word  of  the  mental  malady  since 
Colquhoun's  death.  I  had  judged  it  well  to  let  her  forget  she 
had  ever  suffered  so  if  she  could,  and  I  had  no  reason  to  sus 
pect  that  she  ever  thought  of  it.  She  had  had  hours,  and  even 
days,  of  depression  since  our  marriage,  but  had  always  been 
able  to  account  for  them  satisfactorily  ;  and  now,  although  of 
course  she  got  down  at  times,  she  was  less  often  so  than  is 
usually  the  case  under  the  circumstances,  and  was  always 
easily  consoled. 

She  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  study  one  day.  She  had  a  habit 
of  coming  occasionally  when  I  was  at  work,  a  habit  that  hap 
pily  emphasized  the  difference  between  my  solitary  bachelor 
days  and  these.  She  was  shy  of  her  caresses  as  a  rule,  but 
would  occasionally  make  my  knee  her  seat,  if  it  happened  to 
suit  her  convenience,  while  she  filled  the  flower  vases  on  my 
table  ;  or  she  would  stand  behind  me  with  her  hands  clasped 
round  my  neck,  and  lean  her  cheek  against  my  hair.  She  did 
so  now. 

"  You  love  your  work,  Don,  don't  you  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  sweetheart,"  I  answered  ;  "  next  to  you,  it  is  the  great 
delight  of  my  life." 

"  But,  Don,  you  find  it  all-absorbing  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  ^//-absorbing,  now" 

"  But  sufficiently  so  to  be  a  comfort  to  you  if  you  ever  had 
any  great  grief  ?  After  the  first  shock,  you  would  return  to 
your  old  pursuits,  would  you  not?  And,  by  and  by,  you 
would  find  solace  in  them  ?  " 

I  unclasped  her  hands  from  my  neck,  and  drew  her  round 
to  me.  There  was  a  new  note  in  her  voice  that  sounded 
ominous. 

"  What  is  the  trouble,  little  woman  ! "  I  whispered,  when  I 
had  her  safe  in  my  arms. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  die  and  leave  you,  Don,  if  I  thought 
you  would  be  miserable." 

"Well,  then,  don't  allow  yourself  to  entertain  any  doubt  on 
the  subject,"  I  answered  ;  "  for  I  should  be  more  than  '  mis 
erable.'  I  should  never  care  for  anything  in  the  world  again." 


662  THE  HEAVENLY  7  WINS. 

"  But  if  I  should  have  to  die — -" 

"There  is  no  need  to  distress  either  yourself  or  me  by  such 
an  idle  supposition,  Evadne,"  I  answered.  "  There  is  not  the 
slightest  occasion  for  alarm." 

"  I  am  not  alarmed"  she  said,  and  then  she  was  silent. 

A  few  days  later,  I  found  her  sitting  on  the  floor  in  the  li 
brary,  reading  a  book  she  had  taken  from  one  of  the  lower 
shelves.  It  was  a  book  of  Sir  Shadwell  Rock's  on  the  heredity 
of  vice.  I  took  it  from  her  gently,  remarking  as  I  did  so  : 
"  I  would  rather  you  did  not  read  these  things  just  now, 
Evadne." 

"  I  suppose  you  agree  with  Sir  Shadwell  Rock,"  she  said. 

"Let  me  help  you  up,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  Of  course.  He  is  our  chief  authority,"  I  answered.  "  But 
promise  me,  Evadne,  not  to  look  at  any  of  those  books  again 
without  consulting  me.  I  shall  be  having  you  like  the  medi 
cal  students  who  imagine  they  have  symptoms  of  every  disease 
they  study." 

"  It  would  mark  a  strange  change  in  my  mind,"  she  answered; 
"  for  I  used  to  be  able  to  study  any  subject  of  the  kind  with 
out  being  affected  in  that  way." 

That  her  mind  had  changed,  alas !  or  rather,  that  it  had 
been  injured  by  friction  and  pressure  of  the  restrictions  im 
posed  upon  it,  was  the  suspicion  which  necessitated  my  present 
precaution,  but  I  could  not  say  so. 

She  held  out  her  hands  for  me  to  help  her  to  rise.  "  Why 
are  women  kept  in  the  dark  about  these  things  ? "  she  said, 
pointing  to  the  books  on  heredity.  "  Why  are  we  never  taught 
as  you  are?  We  are  the  people  to  be  informed." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  I  said.  "  It  is  criminal  to  withhold 
knowledge  from  any  woman  who  has  the  capacity  to  acquire 
it.  But  there  is  a  time  for  everything,  you  know,  my  sweet 
heart." 

"  Now,  that  poor  Colonel  Colquhoun,"  she  went  on  as  if  I  had 
not  spoken.  "  He  for  one  should  never  have  been  born.  With 
his  ancestry,  he  must  have  come  into  the  world  foredoomed  to 
a  life  of  dissipation  and  disease.  It  is  awful  to  think  we  may 
any  of  us  become  the  parents  of  people  who  can't  be  moral 
without  upsetting  the  whole  natural  order  of  the  universe.  O 
Don  !  it  is  dreadful  to  know  it,  but  it  is  sinful  to  be  ignorant 
of  the  fact." 

"  But  there  is  no  fear  for  our  children,  Evadne,"  I  said. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  663 

"  Ah  !  that  is  what  I  want  to  know  ! "  she  exclaimed,  clasp 
ing  her  hands  round  my  arm. 

"  Come  out  into  the  grounds  then,  sweetheart,"  I  answered, 
affecting  a  cheerfulness  I  was  far  from  feeling  \  "  and  I  will 
tell  you  the  whole  family  history." 

I  had  to  go  out  that  evening  to  see  a  serious  case  in  consul 
tation  with  a  brother  practitioner.  I  had  ordered  the  dogcart 
for  ten  o'clock,  and  Evadne  came  out  into  the  hall  with  me 
from  the  drawing  room,  where  I  had  been  reading  to  her  since 
dinner,  when  it  was  brought  round. 

"  Must  you  go  ? "  she  said  listlessly. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must,"  I  answered  ;  "  it  is  a  matter  of  life 
and  death.  But  why  shouldn't  you  come  too  !  It  will  be 
much  better  than  staying  here  alone.  I  ought  to  have  thought 
of  it  sooner.  Do  come  !  I  will  send  the  dogcart  back,  and 
have  the  brougham." 

"  It  would  delay  you,"  she  said,  hesitating. 

"  Oh,  no !  Two  horses  in  the  brougham  will  get  over  the 
ground  faster  than  one  in  the  dogcart.  Come  !  Let  me  get 
you  some  wraps." 

"  But  when  we  arrive,  my  presence  will  be  an  inconven 
ience,"  she  objected. 

"  In  no  way,"  I  answered.  "  It  will  not  be  a  long  business, 
and  you  can  wait  very  well  in  the  carriage  with  a  book  and  a 
lamp." 

She  came  out  and  looked  at  the  night,  still  undecided.  The 
weather  was  damp  and  uninviting. 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  go,  Don,"  she  said,  shivering.  "  Good 
bye  and  safe  home  to  you  !  " 

As  I  drove  along,  I  cast  about  in  my  own  mind  for  a  suita 
ble  companion  for  Evadne,  someone  who  would  vary  the 
monotony  for  her  when  I  had  to  be  out.  She  had  no  lady 
loves,  as  so  many  women  have.  Mrs.  Orton  Beg  was  at  Fray- 
lingay  again,  and  Lady  Adeline  was  the  only  other  friend  I 
knew  of  who  would  be  congenial  just  then  ;  but  she  had  mul 
tifarious  duties  of  her  own  to  attend  to,  and  it  would  not  have 
been  fair  to  ask  her,  especially  as  she  was  sure  to  come  if  she 
knew  she  was  wanted,  however  great  the  inconvenience  to  her 
self.  I  knew  nothing  at  that  time  of  two  other  friends  of 
Evadne's,  Mrs.  Sillinger  and  Mrs.  Malcomson,  to  whom  I 
afterward  learnt  that  she  was  much  attached.  Owing,  I  think, 
to  the  unnatural  habit  of  reticence  which  had  been  forced 
upon  her,  she  had  not  mentioned  them  to  me,  although  she 


664  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

continued  to  correspond  with  them.  It  took  her  some  time  to 
realize  that  every  interest  of  hers  was  matter  of  moment  to  me. 
A  certain  colonel  and  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston  had  recently 
settled  in  the  neighbourhood,  in  order,  as  they  gave  out,  to  be 
near  the  Morningquest  family,  with  whom  they  claimed  rela 
tionship,  on  the  ground,  I  believe,  that  they  also  were  Outlines. 
Colonel  Guthrie  Brimston  led  people  to  suppose  that  he  had 
left  the  service  entirely  on  the  duke's  account,  his  disinter, 
ested  intention  being  to  vary  the  monotony  for  the  poor  old 
gentleman  during  his  declining  years.  They  had  claimed 
Evadne's  acquaintance  with  effusion,  but  she  had  not  responded 
very  cordially. 

"  Let  them  have  a  carriage  and  horses  whenever  they  like, 
Don,"  she  said,  "and  give  them  plenty  to  eat;  but  don't 
otherwise  encourage  them  to  come  here." 

Recollecting  which,  I  now  inferred  that  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brim, 
ston  would  not  answer  my  present  purpose  at  all. 

This  was  the  first  time  Evadne  had  shown  any  objection  to 
being  left  alone.  She  used  to  insist  upon  my  going  away 
sometimes,  because,  she  said,  I  should  be  so  very  glad  to  come 
back  to  her  !  But  she  was  never  exacting  in  any  way,  and 
never  out  of  temper.  And  she  had  such  pretty  ways  as  a  wife  ! 
little  endearing  womanly  ways  which  one  felt  to  be  the  spon 
taneous  outcome  of  tenderness  untold,  and  inexpressible.  It 
was  strange  how  her  presence  pervaded  the  house  ;  strange  to 
me  that  one  little  body  could  make  such  a  difference. 

Foolishly  fond  if  you  like.  But  if  every  man  could  care  as 
much  for  a  woman,  hallowed  would  be  her  name,  and  the  strife- 
begetting  uncertainties  of  heaven  and  hell  would  be  allowed 
to  lapse  in  order  to  make  room  for  healthy  human  happiness. 
Our  hearts  have  been  starved  upon  fables  long  enough  ;  we 
demand  some  certainty  ;  and  as  knowledge  increases,  waging 
its  inexorable  war  of  extermination  against  evil,  our  beautiful 
old  earth  will  be  allowed  to  be  lovable,  and  life  a  blessing,  and 
death  itself  only  a  last  sweet  sleep,  neither  to  be  sought  nor 
shunned — "  The  soothing  sinking  down  on  hard-earned  holy 
rest,"  from  which,  if  we  arise  again,  it  shall  not  be  to  suffer. 
No  life  could  be  fuller  of  promise  than  mine  at  this  moment. 
Nothing  was  wanting  but  the  patter  of  little  feet  about  the 
house,  and  they  were  coming.  Doubts  and  fears  were  latent 
for  once.  My  hopes  were  limitless,  my  content  was  extreme. 

"  May  you  have  quiet  rest  to-night,  my  darling  ;  may  your 
heart  grow  strong,  and  your  faith  in  man  revive  at  last." 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  665 

About  halfway  to  my  destination,  I  met  the  gentleman  who 
had  asked  me  out  in  consultation,  returning.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  my  house  to  tell  me  that  the  patient  was  dead.  My 
presence  could  therefore  be  of  no  avail,  and  I  turned  back 
also.  I  had  not  been  absent  more  than  an  hour,  but  I  found, 
on  entering  the  house,  that  Evadne  had  already  retired.  It 
was  a  good  sign,  I  thought,  as  she  had  been  rather  fidgety  the 
whole  day.  I  had  some  letters  to  write,  and  went  at  once  to 
my  study  for  the  purpose,  taking  a  candle  with  me  from  the 
hall.  The  servants,  not  expecting  me  back  until  late,  had 
turned  out  most  of  the  lights  downstairs.  The  lamp  in  my 
study,  however,  was  still  burning.  It  stood  on  the  writing 
table,  and  the  first  thing  I  saw,  on  entering  the  room,  was  a 
letter  lying  conspicuously  on  the  blotting  pad.  It  was  from 
Evadne  to  me. 

She  had  evidently  intended  me  to  get  it  in  the  morning,  for 
a  tray  was  always  left  for  me  in  the  dining  room  in  case  I 
should  be  hungry  when  I  came  in  late,  and  my  chances  were 
all  against  my  ^oing  to  the  study  again  that  night.  I  put  my 
candle  down,  and  tore  the  note  open  with  trembling  hands. 
The  first  few  lines  were  enough.  "  I  am  haunted  by  a  terrible 
fear/'  she  wrote.  "  I  have  tried  again  and  again  to  tell  you, 
but  I  never  could.  You  would  not  see  that  it  is  prophetic,  as 
I  do — in  case  of  our  death — nothing  to  save  my  daughter  from 
Edith's  fate — better  both  die  at  once."  So  I  gathered  the 
contents.  No  time  to  read.  I  crumpled  the  note  into  my 
pocket.  My  labouring  breath  impeded  my  progress  a  moment, 
but,  thank  Heaven  !  I  was  not  paralyzed.  Involuntarily  I 
glanced  at  my  laboratory.  It  was  an  inner  room,  kept  locked 
as  a  rule,  but  the  door  was  open  now — as  I  knew  I  had 
expected  it  to  be.  I  seized  the  candle  and  went  to  the  shelf 
where  I  kept  the  bottles  with  the  ominous  red  labels.  One 
was  missing. 

"  Evadne  !  "  I  shouted,  running  back  through  the  study  and 
library  into  the  hall,  and  calling  her  again  and  again  as  I 
went  If  it  were  not  already  too  late,  and  she  had  heard  my 
voice,  I  knew  she  would,  hesitate.  I  tore  up  the  stairs,  and  I 
must  have  flown,  although  it  seemed  a  century  before  I  reached 
her  room.  I  flung  open  the  door. 

She  had  heard  me. 

She  was  standing  beside  a  dressing  table  in  a  listening  atti 
tude,  with  a  glass  half  raised  to  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  met 
mine  as  I  entered 


666  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

My  first  cry  of  distress  had  reached  her,  and  the  shock  of  it 
had  been  sufficient.  Had  that  note  fallen  into  my  hands  but 
one  moment  later — but  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  Even  at 
this  distance  of  time  the  recollection  utterly  unmans  me.  The 
moment  I  saw  her,  however,  I  could  command  myself.  I  took 
the  glass  from  her  hand,  and  threw  it  into  the  fireplace  with 
as  little  show  of  haste  as  possible. 

«'  To  bed  now,  my  sweetheart,"  I  said  ;  "  and  no  more  non 
sense  of  this  kind,  you  know." 

She  looked  at  the  fragments  of  the  broken  glass,  and  then 
at  me,  in  a  half  wondering,  half  regretful,  half  inquiring  way 
that  was  pitiful  to  see.  Shaken  as  I  was,  I  could  not  bear  it. 
While  the  danger  lasted,  it  was  no  effort  to  be  calm;  but  now 
I  broke  down,  and,  throwing  myself  into  a  chair,  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands,  thoroughly  overcome. 

In  a  moment  she  was  kneeling  beside  me. 

44  O  Don  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  what  is  it  ?  Why  are  you  so 
terribly  upset  ?  " 

Poor  little  innocent  sinner  I  The  one  idea  had  possessed 
her  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  consideration.  I  said 
nothing  to  her,  of  course,  in  the  way  of  blame.  It  would  have 
been  useless.  She  was  bitterly  sorry  to  see  me  grieved  ;  but 
her  moral  consciousness  was  suspended,  and  she  felt  no 
remorse  whatever  for  her  intention,  except  in  so  far  as  it  had 
given  me  pain.  The  impulse  had  passed  for  the  moment, 
however,  and  I  was  so  sure  of  it  that  I  did  not  even  take  the 
fatal  phial  away  with  me  when  I  went  to  my  dressing-room  ; 
but  for  forty-six  days  and  nights  I  never  left  her  an  hour  alone. 
The  one  great  hope,  however,  that  the  cruel  obliquity  would  be 
cured  by  the  mother's  love  when  it  awoke  amply  sustained  me. 

She  was  well  and  cheerful  for  the  rest  of  the  time,  greatly 
owing,  I  am  sure,  to  the  influence  of  Sir  Shadwell  Rock,  who 
came  at  once,  like  the  kind  and  generous  friend  he  was,  with- 
out  waiting  to  be  asked,  when  he  heard  what  had  happened  ; 
and  announced  himself  prepared  to  stay  until  the  danger  was 
over.  I  heard  Evadne  laugh  very  soon  after  his  arrival,  and 
could  see  that  "  the  worry  in  her  head,"  as  she  described  it, 
had  gone  again,  and  was  forgotten.  The  impulse,  which 
would  have  robbed  me  of  all  my  happiness  and  hopes  had  she 
succeeded  in  carrying  it  out,  never  cost  her  a  thought.  The 
saving  suffering  of  an  agony  of  remorse  was  what  we  should 
like  to  have  seen,  for  in  that  there  would  have  been  good 
assurance  of  healthy  moral  consciousness  restored. 


THE  H&AVEKLY  TWttfS.  66? 

It  seemed  to  be  only  the  power  to  endure  mental  misery 
which  had  been  injured  by  those  weary  days  of  enforced  se 
clusion  and  unnatural  inactivity,  for  I  never  knew  anyone 
braver  about  physical  pain.  It  was  the  strength  to  contem 
plate  the  sufferings  of  others,  which  grows  in  action  and  is 
best  developed  by  turning  the  knowledge  to  account  for  their 
benefit,  that  had  been  sapped  by  ineffectual  brooding,  until  at 
last,  before  the  moral  shock  of  indignation  which  the  view  of 
preventable  human  evils  gave  her,  her  right  mind  simply  went 
out,  and  a  disordered  faculty  filled  the  void  with  projects 
which  only  a  perverted  imagination  could  contemplate  as  be 
ing  of  any  avail 

Whatever  doubts  we  may  have  had  about  her  feeling  for  the 
child  when  it  came  were  instantly  set  at  rest.  Nothing  could 
have  been  healthier  or  more  natural  than  her  pride  and  delight 
in  him.  When  she  saw  him  for  the  first  time,  after  he  was 
dressed,  I  brought  him  to  her  myself  with  his  little  cheek 
against  my  face. 

"  O  Don  !  "  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  opening  wide  with  joy. 
"  I  love  to  see  you  like  that !  But  what  is  she  like,  Don  ? 
Give  her  to  me  !  " 

"She,  indeed  !"  I  answered.  "Don't  insult  my  son.  He 
would  reproach  you  himself,  but  he  is  speechless  with  indig 
nation." 

"  O  Don,  don't  be  ridiculous  !  "  she  cried,  stretching  up  her 
arms  for  him.  "  Is  it  really  a  boy  ?  Do  give  him  to  me  !  I 
want  to  see  him  so  !  "  When  I  had  put  him  in  her  arms,  she 
gathered  him  up  jealously,  and  covered  him  with  kisses,  then 
held  him  off  a  little  way  to  look  at  him,  and  then  kissed  him 
again  and  again. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  baby  before  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  No,  never  !  never  !  "  she  answered  emphatically  ;  "  never 
such  a  darling  as  this,  at  all  events  !  His  little  cheek  is  just 
like  velvet ;  and,  see  !  he  can  curl  up  his  hands !  Isn't  it 
wonderful,  Don  ?  He's  like  you,  too.  I'm  sure  he  is.  He's 
quite  dark." 

"  He's  just  the  colour  of  that  last  sunset  you  were  raving 
about.  I  told  you  to  be  careful." 

"  O  Don,  how  can  you  !  "  she  exclaimed.  It  was  beautiful 
to  see  her  raptures.  She  was  like  a-  child  herself,  so  unaf 
fectedly  glad  in  her  precious  little  treasure,  and  so  surprised  ! 
The  fact  that  he  would  move  independently  and  have  ideas  of 
his  own  seemed  never  to  have  occurred  to  her. 


668  THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS. 

So  far  so  good,  as  Sir  Shadwell  said  ;  and  we  soon  had  her 
about  again  ;  but  the  first  time  she  sat  up,  after  her  cushions 
had  been  arranged  for  her,  and  her  baby  laid  on  her  lap,  when 
I  stooped  to  give  them  both  a  kiss  of  hearty  congratulation, 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Don,  don't  be  concerned,"  she  said,  trying 
bravely  to  smile  again.  "  I  was  thinking  of  my  mother.  This 
would  have  been  such  a  happy  day  for  her." 

This  made  me  think  of  the  breach  with  her  father.  I  had 
forgotten  that  she  had  a  father,  but  it  occurred  to  me  now 
that  a  reconciliation  might  add  to  her  happiness,  and  I  wrote 
to  him  accordingly  to  that  effect,  making  the  little  grandson 
my  excuse.  Mr.  Frayling  replied  that  he  had  heard  indirectly 
of  his  daughter's  second  marriage,  but  was  not  surprised  to  re 
ceive  no  communication  from  herself  on  the  subject,  because 
her  whole  conduct  for  many  years  past  had  really  been  most 
extraordinary.  If,  however,  she  had  become  a  dutiful  wife  at 
last,  as  I  had  intimated,  he  was  willing  to  forgive  her,  and  let 
bygones  be  bygones  ;  whereupon  I  asked  him  to  Fountain 
Towers,  and  he  came. 

He  was  extremely  cordial.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him  be 
fore  he  saw  Evadne,  during  which  I  discovered  from  whence  she 
took  her  trick  of  phrase-making.  He  expressed  himself  as 
satisfied  with  me,  and  my  position,  my  reputation,  and  my 
place.  He  also  shook  his  watch  chain  at  my  son,  which  de 
noted  great  approval,  I  inferred  ;  and  made  many  improving 
remarks,  interspersed  with  much  good  advice  on  the  subject 
of  babies  and  the  management  of  estates. 

Evadne  had  been  very  nervous  about  meeting  him  again, 
but  the  baby  broke  the  ice,  and  she  was  unfeignedly  glad  to 
make  friends.  Upon  the  whole,  however,  the  reconciliation 
was  not  the  success  that  I  had  anticipated.  Father  and 
daughter  had  lost  touch,  and,  after  the  first  few  hours,  there 
was  neither  pleasure  nor  pain  in  their  intercourse  ;  nothing, 
in  fact,  but  politeness.  The  flow  of  affection  had  been  too 
long  interrupted.  It  was  diverted  to  other  channels  now,  and 
was  too  deeply  imbedded  in  them  to  be  coaxed  back  in  the 
old  direction.  Love  is  a  sacred  stream  which  withdraws  itself 
from  the  sacrilegious  who  have  offered  it  outrage. 

It  was  an  unmitigated  happiness,  however,  to  Evadne  to 
have  her  brothers  and  sisters  with  her  again,  and  from  that 
time  forward  we  had  generally  some  of  them  at  Fountain 
Towers. 


THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  669 

Mrs.  Kilroy  of  Ilverthorpe,  otherwise  known  to  her  friends 
as  Angelica,  was  one  of  the  first  people  privileged  to  see  the 
baby. 

"  Oh,  you  queer  little  thing  !  "  she  exclaimed,  pointing  her 
finger  at  it  by  way  of  caress.  "  I've  been  thinking  all  this 
time  that  babies  were  always  Speckled  Toads.  And  you  are 
all  rosy,  and  dimpled,  and  plump,  you  pretty  thing  !  I  wish 
I  had  just  a  dozen  like  you  !  " 

Poor  erratic  Angelica,  with  all  her  waywardness,  "  but  yet  a 
woman  !  "  There  was  only  the  one  man  that  I  have  ever 
known  who  could  have  developed  the  best  that  was  in  Angelica, 
and  him  she  had  just  missed,  as  so  often  happens  in  this  world 
of  contraries.  I  am  thinking  of  our  poor  Julian,  known  to  her 
as  the  Tenor,  whom  she  had  met  when  it  was  too  late,  and  in 
an  evil  hour  for  us  and  for  herself  apparently,  the  conse 
quences  having  been  his  death  and  her  own  desolation.  Yet 
I  don't  know.  Those  were  the  first  consequences  certainly, 
but  others  followed  and  are  following.  The  memory  of  one 
good  man  is  a  light  which  sheds  the  brightest  rays  that  fall  on 
the  lives  of  thousands — as  Mr.  Kilroy  has  reason  to  know  ; 
with  whom,  after  the  Tenor,  Angelica  is  happier  than  she 
could  have  been  with  any  other  man.  And  then,  again,  she 
has  Diavolo.  The  close  friendship  between  them,  which  had 
been  interrupted  for  some  years,  was  renewed  again  in  some 
inexplicable  way  by  the  effect  of  my  marriage  on  Diavolo,  and 
since  then  they  have  been  as  inseparable  as  their  respective 
duties  to  husband  and  grandfather  allow.  And  so  the  web  of 
life  is  woven,  the  puzzling  strands  resolving  themselves  out  of 
what  has  seemed  to  be  a  hopeless  tangle  into  the  most  beauti 
ful  designs. 

Some  of  Evadne's  ideas  of  life  were  considerably  enlarged 
in  view  of  the  boy's  future. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  a  rich  man,"  she  said  to  me  one  day, 
"  and  have  a  title  and  all  that.  It  doesn't  matter  for  you,  you 
know,  Don,  because  you  are  you.  But  it  will  give  the  baby 
such  a  start  in  life." 

She  summoned  me  at  a  very  early  period  of  his  existence  to 
choose  a  name  for  him,  and  having  decided  upon  George 
Shadwell  Beton,  she  had  him  christened  with  all  orthodox 
ceremony  by  the  Bishop  of  Morningquest  as  soon  as  possible. 
That  duty  once  accomplished  must  have  relieved  her  mind 
satisfactorily  with  regard  to  a  Christian  name  for  him,  for  she 
has  insisted  on  calling  him  by  the  heathen  appellation  of  Don- 


6jo  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

ino  ever  since,  for  the  flattering  reason  that  his  temper  when 
thwarted  is  exactly  like  mine. 

"  I  am  sure  when  you  were  his  age  you  used  to  kick  and 
scream  just  as  he  does  when  his  wishes  are  not  carried  out  on 
the  instant,"  she  said.  "  You  don't  kick  and  scream  now 
when  you  are  vexed  ;  you  look  like  thunder,  and  walk  out  of 
the  room." 

"  Baby  seems  to  afford  you  infinite  satisfaction  when  he 
kicks  and  screams.  You  laugh  and  hug  him  more,  if  anything, 
in  his  tantrums  than  when  he  is  good,"  I  remarked. 

"  I  take  his  tantrums  for  a  sign  of  strength,"  she  answered. 
"  He  is  merely  standing  on  his  dignity,  and  demanding  his 
rights  as  a  rule.  It  was  the  same  thing  with  his  father  when 
he  frowned  and  walked  out  of  the  room.  He  wouldn't  be  sat 
upon  either,  and  I  used  to  see  in  that  a  sign  of  self-respect 
also.  It  is  a  long  time  now  since  I  saw  you  frown  and  walk 
out  of  the  room,  Don." 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  you  attempted  to  sit  upon  me,"  I  said. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  neglect  you,"  she  answered  apologetically  ; 
"  you  see,  Donino  requires  so  much  of  my  time." 

She  continued  to  be  cheerful  for  months  after  the  birth  of 
the  boy,  and  we  waited  patiently  for  some  sign  which  should 
be  an  assurance  of  her  complete  restoration  to  mental  health  ; 
or,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  for  an  opportunity  of  testing  her 
present  feeling  about  the  subject  that  distressed  her.  I  had 
given  up  expecting  a  miraculous  cure  in  a  moment,  and  now 
only  hoped  for  a  gradual  change  for  the  better. 

The  opportunity  I  was  waiting  for  came  one  winter's  after 
noon  when  she  was  playing  with  the  baby.  It  was  a  moment 
of  leisure  with  me,  the  afternoon  tea-time,  which  I  always 
arranged  to  spend  with  her  if  possible,  and  especially  if  she 
would  otherwise  have  been  alone,  as  was  the  case  on  this  occa 
sion. 

I  had  been  responding  for  half  an  hour,  as  well  as  I  could, 
to  incessant  appeals  for  sympathy  and  admiration — not  that  I 
found  it  difficult  to  admire  the  boy,  who  was  certainly  a  splen 
did  specimen  of  the  human  race,  although  perhaps  I  ought  not 
to  say  so  ;  but  my  command  of  language  never  answered  his 
mother's  expectations,  somehow,  when  it  came  to  expressing 
my  feelings. 

"  Do  you  think  you  care  as  much  for  him  as  I  do,  Don  ?  * 
she  burst  out  at  last. 

"  More,"  I  answered  seriously. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  671 

"  Why  ?     How  ?  "  she  demanded,  surprised  by  my  tone. 

"  Because  I  never  could  have  hurt  him." 

"  Hurt  him  !  "  she  exclaimed,  gathering  him  up  in  her  arms. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  I  could  hurt  him  !  hurt  my  baby  !  Oh  !  " 
She  got  up  and  stood  looking  at  me  indignantly  for  a  few 
seconds  with  the  child's  face  hidden  against  her  neck ;  and 
then  she  rang  the  bell  sharply,  and  sent  him  away. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Don  ?  "  she  said,  when  we  were  alone 
together  again.  "  Tell  me  ?  You  would  not  say  a  cruel  thing 
like  that  for  nothing." 

"  I  am  referring  to  that  night  before  he  was  born,"  I  said, 
taking  the  little  bottle  from  my  pocket.  This  seems  to  me 
to  have  been  the  cruellest  operation  that  I  have  ever  had  to 
perform. 

"  O  Don  !  "  she  cried,  greatly  distressed.  "  I  understand- 
I  should  have  killed  him.  But  why,  why  do  you  remind  me 
of  that  now  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  be  quite  sure  that  you  have  learnt  what  a  mis 
taken  notion  that  was,  and  that  you  regret  the  impulse." 

She  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  before  the  fire,  with  her  elbows 
on  her  knees  and  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  and  remained 
so  for  some  time.  She  wanted  to  think  it  out,  and  tell  me 
exactly. 

"  I  do  not  feel  any  regret,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  would  not 
do  the  same  thing  now,  but  it  is  only  because  I  am  not  now 
occupied  with  the  same  thoughts.  They  have  fallen  into  the 
background  of  my  consciousness,  and  I  no  longer  perceive 
the  utility  of  self-sacrifice." 

"  But  do  you  not  perceive  the  sin  of  suicide  ?  " 

"  Not  of  that  kind  of  suicide,"  she  answered.  "  You  see,  we 
have  the  divine  example.  Christ  committed  suicide  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  by  deliberately  putting  himself  into  the 
hands  of  his  executioners  ;  but  his  motive  makes  them  respon 
sible  for  the  crime  ;  and  my  motive  would  place  society  in  a 
similar  position." 

"  Your  view  of  the  great  sacrifice  would  startle  theologians, 
I  imagine,"  was  my  answer.  "  But,  even  allowing  that  Christ 
was  morally  responsible  for  his  own  death,  and  thereby  set 
the  example  you  would  have  followed  to  save  others  from 
suffering  ;  tell  me,  do  you  really  see  any  comparison  between 
an  act  which  had  the  redemption  of  the  world  for  its  object, 
and  the  only  result  that  could  follow  from  the  sacrifice  of  one 
little  mother  and  child  ?  " 


672  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  What  result,  Don  ?  * 

"  Breaking  your  husband's  heart,  spoiling  his  life,  and  leav 
ing  him  lonely  forever." 

She  started  up  and  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  me, 
clasping  her  hands  about  my  neck. 

"  O  Don,  don't  say  that  again  ! "  she  cried.  "  Don't  say 
anything  like  that  again — ever — will  you  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  should  never  think  of  it  again  if  I  could  be 
sure " 

She  hid  her  head  upon  my  shoulder,  but  did  not  answer 
immediately. 

"I  am  seeking  for  some  assurance  in  myself  to  give  you," 
she  said  at  last ;  "but  I  feel  none.  The  same  train  of  thought 
would  provoke  me  again — no,  not  to  the  same  act,  but  to 
something  desperate  ;  I  can't  tell  what.  But  I  suffer  so,  Don, 
when  such  thoughts  come,  from  grief,  and  rage,  and  horror,  I 
would  do  almost  anything  for  relief." 

"  But  just  think "  I  began. 

"  No,  don't  ask  me  to  think  ! "  she  interrupted.  "  All  my 
endeavour  is  not  to  think.  Let  me  live  on  the  surface  of  life, 
as  most  women  do.  I  will  do  nothing  but  attend  to  my  house 
hold  duties  and  the  social  duties  of  my  position.  I  will  read 
nothing  that  is  not  first  weeded  by  you  of  every  painful 
thought  that  might  remind  me.  I  will  play  with  my  baby  by 
day,  and  curl  up  comfortably  beside  you  at  night,  infinitely 
grateful  and  content  to  be  so  happily  circumstanced  myself — 
Don,  help  me  to  that  kind  of  life,  will  you  ?  And  burn  the 
books.  Let  me  deserve  my  name  and  be  *  well  pleasing  one  ' 
to  you  first  of  all  the  world,  and  then  to  any  with  whom  I  may 
come  in  contact.  Let  me  live  while  you  live,  and  die  when 
you  die.  But  do  not  ask  me  to  think.  I  can  be  the  most 
docile,  the  most  obedient,  the  most  loving  of  women  as  long 
as  I  forget  my  knowledge  of  life ;  but  the  moment  I  remember 
I  become  a  raging  fury ;  I  have  no  patience  with  slow 
processes  ;  *  Revolution*  would  be  my  cry,  and  I  could  preside 
with  an  awful  joy  at  the  execution  of  those  who  are  making 
the  misery  now  for  succeeding  generations." 

"But,  my  dear  child,  it  would  surely  be  happier  for  you  to 
try  to  alleviate " 

"  No,  no,"  she  again  interrupted.  "  I  know  all  you  can  say 
on  that  score  ;  but  I  cannot  bear  to  be  brought  into  contact 
with  certain  forms  of  suffering.  I  cannot  bear  the  contradic 
tions  of  life  ;  they  make  me  rage." 


TtiE  HEAVENLY  TWINS.  673 

"What  I  want  to  say  is  that  you  should  act,  and  not  think," 
I  ventured. 

"  How  can  I  act  without  thinking  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  see,  if  you  don't  act  you  must  think,"  I  pursued ; 
"  and  if  you  do  think  without  acting,  you  become  morbid. 
The  conditions  of  an  educated  woman's  life  now  force  her  to 
know  the  world.  She  is  too  intelligent  not  to  reason  about 
what  she  knows.  She  sees  what  is  wrong  ;  and  if  she  is  high- 
minded  she  feels  forced  to  use  her  influence  to  combat  it.  If 
she  resists  the  impulse  her  conscience  cannot  acquit  her,  and 
she  suffers  herself  for  her  cowardice." 

"  I  know,"  she  answered.  "  But  don't  let  us  discuss  the 
subject  any  more." 

We  were  silent  for  some  time  after  that,  and  then  I  made  a 
move  as  if  to  speak,  but  checked  myself. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  do  something  to  oblige  me  ;  but 
now  I  do  not  like  to." 

"  Oh  ! "  she  exclaimed,  much  hurt ;  "  do  you  really  think 
there  is  anything  I  would  not  do  for  you,  if  I  could  ?  " 

"  Well,  this  is  mere  trifle,"  I  answered.  "  I  want  you  to 
take  that  sturdy  much  be-ribboned  darling  of  yours  to  see  my 
poor  sick  souls  in  the  hospital.  A  sight  of  his  small  face 
would  cheer  them.  Will  you  ?" 

"  Why,  surdy"  she  said.  *'  How  could  you  doubt  it  ?  I 
shall  be  delighted." 

"  And  there  was  another  thing " 

"  Oh,  don't  hesitate  like  that,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  can't 
think  how  you  hurt  me." 

"  I  very  much  wish  you  would  take  charge  of  the  flowers  in 
the  hospital  for  me,  that  was  what  I  was  going  to  say,  I 
should  be  so  pleased  if  you  should  make  them  your  special 
care.  If  you  would  cut  them  yourself,  and  take  them  and  ar 
range  them  whenever  fresh  ones  are  wanted,  you  would  be 
giving  me  as  much  pleasure  as  the  patients.  And  you  might 
say  something  kind  to  them  as  you  pass  through  the  wards. 
Even  a  word  makes  all  the  difference  in  their  day." 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  me  to  do  this. before?"  she  said,  re 
proachfully. 

"  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  asking  you  now,"  I  answered. 

"  I  shall  begin  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "  Tell  me  the  best 
time  for  me  to  go  ? " 

There  is  a  great  deal  in  the  way  a  thing  is  put,  was  my  trite 


674  TffJE  HEAV,ENLY   TWINS. 

reflection  afterward.  If  I  had  given  Evadne  my  reason  for 
particularly  wishing  her  to  visit  the  hospital,  she  would  have 
turned  it  inside  out  to  show  me  that  it  was  lined  with  ob 
jections;  but,  now,  because  I  had  asked  her  to  oblige  me 
simply,  she  was  ready  to  go  ;  and  would  have  gone  if  it  had  cost 
her  half  her  comfort  in  life.  This  was  a  great  step  in  advance. 
As  in  the  small-pox  epidemic,  so  now  at  the  hospital,  she  had 
no  horror  of  anything  she  saw.  It  was  always  what  she  im 
agined  that  made  her  morbid. 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

FJOLLOWING  these  days  there  came  a  time  of  perfect  peace 
for  both  of  us.  Evadne's  health  was  satisfactory;  she 
led  the  life  she  had  planned  for  herself;  and  so  long  as  she 
shut  out  all  thought  of  the  wicked  world  and  nothing  oc 
curred  to  remind  her  of  the  "  awful  needless  suffering  "  with 
which  she  had  become  acquainted  in  the  past,  she  was  tran 
quilly  happy. 

Donino  rapidly  grew  out  of  arms.  He  was  an  independent 
young  rascal  from  the  first,  and  would  never  be  carried  if  he 
could  walk,  or  driven  from  the  moment  he  could  sit  a  pony — 
grip  is  the  word,  I  know,  but  his  legs  were  not  long  enough 
to  grip  when  he  began,  and  his  rides  were  therefore  conducted 
all  over  the  pony's  back  at  first.  His  object  was  to  keep  on, 
and  in  order  to  do  so  without  the  assistance  he  scorned,  he 
rode  like  a  monkey. 

Evadne  was  proud  of  the  boy,  but  she  missed  the  baby,  and 
complained  that  her  arms  were  empty.  It  was  not  long,  how 
ever,  happily, — and  &  propos  of  the  number  of  my  responsi 
bilities,  I  was  taken  to  task  severely  one  day,  and  discovered 
that  I  had  in  my  son  a  staunch  supporter  and  a  counsellor 
whose  astuteness  was  not  to  be  despised. 

I  was  finishing  my  letters  one  afternoon  in  the  library  when 
Evadne  came  in  with  her  daughter  in  her  arms,  and  Donino 
clinging  to  her  skirt.  I  expected  the  usual  "  Don,  I  am  sure 
you  have  done  enough.  Come  and  have  some  tea,"  and 
turned  to  meet  it  with  the  accustomed  protest:  "Just  five 
minutes  more,  my  sweetheart."  But  Evadne  began  in  quite 
another  tone. 

"I  have  just  heard  such  a  disgraceful  thing  about  you," 
she  said. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  675 

"  A  disgraceful  thing  about  me  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes.  I  hear  you  were  asked  the  other  day  how  many 
children  you  had,  and  you  answered  *  Two  or  three  !  '  Now, 
will  you  kindly  count  your  children,  and  when  you  are  quite 
sure  you  know  the  number  off  by  heart,  repeat  it  aloud  to 
me,  so  that  I  may  have  some  hope  that  you  will  not  commit 
yourself  in  that  way  again." 

"  Oh,"  I  answered,  "  I  know  how  many  babies  there  are  ;  my 
difficulty  is  about  you.  I  am  never  quite  sure  whether  to  count 
you  as  a  child  or  not." 

"  Now,  I  call  that  a  mean  little  score,"  she  said,  carrying  her 
baby  off  with  an  affectation  of  indignation  which  deceived 
Donino. 

He  had  been  standing  with  his  back  to  the  writing  table  and 
his  feet  firmly  planted  before  him,  gravely  watching  us,  and 
now  when  his  mother  left  the  room  he  came  to  my  knee  and 
looked  up  at  me  confidentially. 

"  Ou  bin  naughty,  dad  ?  "  he  asked. 

**  It  looks  like  it,"  I  answered. 

"Ou  say  ou  sorry,"  he  advised. 

"  What  will  happen  then  ?  "  I  wanted  to  know. 

"  Den  de  missus  'ill  kiss  ou,"  he  explained.  "  Den  dat  all 
right." 

"  Truly  '  a  wise  son  maketh  a  glad  father,'"  I  observed. 

Donino  knitted  his  brows,  and  grumbled  a  puzzled  but 
polite  assent.  I  saw  signs  of  reflection  afterward,  how 
ever,  which  warned  me  not  to  be  too  sure  that  I  knew 
exactly  where  the  limits  of  the  little  understanding  were.  But 
one  thing  was  evident.  The  boy  was  being  educated  on  the 
principle  of  repent  and  have  done  with  it.  Old  accounts  are 
not  cast  up  in  this  establishment. 

Donino  watched  me  putting  my  writing  things  away  ;  he 
was  waiting  to  see  me  through  my  trouble.  When  I  was 
ready,  he  took  as  much  of  my  hand  as  he  could  hold  in  his, 
protectingly,  and  led  me  to  the  drawing  room  with  a  dignified 
air  of  importance.  Sir  Shadwell  Rock  was  staying  with  us  at 
the  time,  and  my  daughter  was  creeping  from  her  mother  to 
him  as  we  entered  the  room,  and  receiving  a  large  share  of 
his  attention.  Donino  glanced  at  him,  fearing,  perhaps,  that 
his  presence  as  audience  would  make  matters  more  unpleasant 
^or  me. 

«'  Mumme,"  he  said,  "  dad's  turn." 

Evadne  looked  up  inquiringly. 


676  - "THE -HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

"  I've  come  to  say  I  am  sorry,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,"  said  Evadne,  a  little  puzzled,  "  that's  right." 

Donino  looked  from  one  to  the  other  expectantly  ;  but  as 
his  mother  made  no  move,  he  edged  up  to  her  side,  and 
repeated  with  emphasis  :  "  Dad's  sorry." 

"That's  right,"  his  mother  answered,  putting  her  arm  round 
him,  and  caressing  him  fondly. 

He  drew  away  from  her  dissatisfied,  and  walked  to  the  win 
dow,  where  he  stood,  with  his  thumbs  in  his  belt,  and  his  chin 
on  his  chest. 

"  O  Don,"  Evadne  whispered,  "  do  look  at  yourself  in 
miniature  !  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  What  have  I  done  to 
disturb  him  ?  or  left  undone  ?  " 

"  I  said  I  was  sorry,  and  you  haven't  kissed  me,"  I  replied. 

Evadne  grasped  the  situation  at  last,  and  got  up. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  kiss  you,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  you  won't 
be  naughty  again." 

The  boy  made  no  sign  at  the  moment,  but  presently  he 
sauntered  back  to  the  tea-table  as  if  he  were  satisfied. 

When  the  children  were  gone  Sir  Shadwell  asked  for  an 
explanation. 

"  It  is  beautiful  to  watch  the  mind  of  a  young  child  unfold," 
he  observed  ;  "  to  notice  its  wonderful  grasp,  on  the  one  hand, 
of  ideas  one  would  have  thought  quite  beyond  its  comprehen' 
sion,  and,  on  the  other,  its  curious  limitations.  Now,  that  bo~y 
of  yours  reasons  already  from  what  he  observes." 

"  Clearly,"  I  answered.  "  He  observes  that  my  position  in 
this  house  is  quite  secondary,  and  therefore,  although  he  sees 
his  mother  '  naughty '  every  day,  he  never  thinks  for  a  moment 
of  suggesting  that  she  should  *  own  up  '  to  me." 

"  Don,  you  are  horrid  !  "  Evadne  exclaimed. 

The  next  day  she  went  out  early  in  the  afternoon  to  pay 
calls. 

Sir  Shadwell  and  I  accompanied  her  to  the  door  to  see  her 
into  her  carriage,  and  she  drove  off  smiling,  and  kissing  her 
hand  to  us. 

"  Now,"  I  said,  as  we  lingered  on  the  doorstep,  watching 
the  carriage  glint  between  the  trees  :  "  what  do  you  think 
about  the  wisdom  of  my  marriage?" 

"Oh,"  he  answered,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "You  didn't  ex 
plain,  you  know,  so  I  naturally  concluded  that  you  were 
merely  marrying  for  your  own  gratification,  in  which  case  you 
would  have  been  disappointed  when  you  found  what  I  fore- 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  677 

saw,  that,  under  the  circumstances,  the  pleasure  would  not  be 
unmixed.  You  should  have  explained  that  your  sole  purpose 
was  to  make  a  very  charming  young  lady  healthy-minded 
again  and  happy,  if  you  wanted  to  know  what  I  thought  of 
your  chances  of  success." 

"  You're  a  confounded  old  cynic,"  I  said,  turning  into  the 
house. 

Sir  Shadwell  went  out  into  the  grounds,  and  there  I  found 
him  later,  patiently  instructing  Donino  in  the  difficult  art  of 
stringing  a  bow,  his  white  head  bowed  beside  the  boy's  dark 
one,  and  his  benign  face  wrought  into  wrinkles  of  intentness. 

I  was  busy  during  the  afternoon,  but  I  fancied  I  heard  the 
carriage  return.  Evadne  did  not  come  to  report  herself  to 
me,  however,  as  was  her  wo-nt  after  an  expedition,  and  I  there 
fore  thought  that  I  must  have  been  mistaken,  and  more  espe 
cially  so  when  she  did  not  appear  at  tea-time.  After  tea,  Sir 
Shadwell  settled  himself  with  a  book,  and  I  left  him.  In  the 
hall  I  met  the  footman  who  had  gone  out  with  Evadne. 

"When  did  you  return?"  I  asked. 

"  I  can't  say  rightly,  Sir  George,"  the  man  replied.  "  We 
only  paid  one  call  this  afternoon,  and  then  came  straight  back. 
Her  ladyship  seemed  to  be  poorly." 

I  ran  upstairs  to  my  wife's  sitting  room.  She  was  lying  on 
a  couch  asleep,  her  face  gray,  her  eyelids  swollen  and  purple 
with  weeping,  her  hair  disordered.  As  I  stood  looking  down 
at  her,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  held  up  her  arms  to  me. 
She  looked  ten  years  older,  a  mere  wreck  of  the  healthy, 
happy,  smiling  woman  who  had  driven  off  kissing  her  hand  to 
us  only  a  few  hours  before. 

"  Tell  me  the  trouble,  my  sweetheart,"  I  said,  kneeling  down 
beside  her.  "  Where  did  you  go  to-day  ?  " 

"  Only  to  Mrs.  Guthrie  Brimston,"  she  answered.  "  But 
Mrs.  Beale  was  there  with  Edith's  boy,  and  we  talked — O 
Don  !  "  she  broke  off.  "  I  wish  my  children  had  never  been 
born  !  The  suffering  !  the  awful  needless  suffering  !  How 
do  I  know  that  they  will  escape?" 

Alas !  alas  !  that  terrible  cry  again,  and  just  after  we  had 
allowed  ourselves  to  be  sure  that  it  had  been  silenced  at  last 
forever. 

I  did  not  reason  with  her  this  time.  I  could  only  pet  her, 
and  talk  for  the  purpose  of  distracting  her  attention,  as  one 
does  with  a  child.  So  far,  I  had  never  for  a  moment  lost 
heart  and  hope.  I  could  not  believe  that  the  balance  of  her 


678  THE  HEAVENLY  TWINS. 

fine  intelligence  had  been  too  rudely  shaken  ever  to  be  per 
fectly  restored  ;  but  now  at  last  it  seemed  as  if  her  confidence 
in  her  fellow-creatures,  the  source  of  all  mental  health,  had 
been  destroyed  forever,  and  with  that  confidence  her  sense  of 
the  value  of  life  and  of  her  own  obligations  had  been  also  in 
jured  or  distorted  to  a  degree  which  could  not  fail  to  be  dan 
gerous  on  occasion.  There  are  injuries  which  set  up  carci 
noma  of  the  mind,  we  know,  cancer  spots  confined  to  a  small 
area  at  first,  but  gradually  extending  with  infinite  pain  until 
all  the  surrounding  healthy  tissue  is  more  or  less  involved, 
and  the  whole  beautiful  fabric  is  absorbed  in  the  morbid 
growth,  for  which  there  is  no  certain  palliative  in  time,  and 
no  possible  prospect  of  cure  except  in  eternity.  Was  this  to 
be  Evadne's  case?  Alas!  alas!  But,  still,  doctors  some 
times  mistake  the  symptoms,  and  find  happily  that  they  have 
erred  when  they  arrived  at  an  unfavourable  diagnosis.  So 
I  said  to  myself,  but  the  assurance  in  no  way  affected  the 
despair  which  had  settled  upon  my  heart,  and  was  crushing  it. 

Late  that  night  I  was  sitting  alone  in  my  study.  I  had 
been  reading  Solomon's  prayer  at  the  dedication  of  the 
temple,  and  the  book  still  lay  open  before  me.  It  was  a  habit 
of  mine  to  read  the  Bible  when  I  was  much  perturbed.  The 
solemn  majestic  march  of  the  measured  words  seldom  failed 
to  restore  my  tranquillity  in  a  wonderful  way,  and  it  had  done 
so  now.  I  felt  resigned.  "  Hearken  therefore  unto  the  sup 
plication  of  Thy  servant  " — I  was  repeating  to  myself,  in 
fragments,  as  the  lines  occurred  to  me — "  that  Thine  eyes  may 
be  upon  this  house  day  and  night  .  .  .  hear  Thou  from  Thy 
dwelling  place,  even  from  heaven  ;  and  when  Thou  hearest 
forgive." 

I  must  have  dozed  a  moment,  I  think,  when  I  had  pro 
nounced  the  words,  for  I  had  heard  no  rustle  of  trailing  gar 
ments  in  the  library  beyond,  yet  the  next  thing  I  was 
conscious  of  was  Evadne  kneeling  beside  me.  She  put  her 
arms  round  my  neck,  and  drew  my  face  down  to  her. 

"  Don,"  she  said,  with  a  great  dry  sob,  "  I  am  sorry.  I  have 
annoyed  you  somehow " 

"  Not  annoyed  me,  my  wife." 

"  Hurt  you  then,  which  is  worse.  I  have  taken  all  the  heart 
out  of  you — somehow — I  can  see  that.  But  I  cannot — cannot 
tell  what  it  is  I  have  done."  She  looked  into  my  face  pit- 
eously,  and  then  hid  her  own  on  my  shoulder,  and  burst  into 
a  paroxysm  of  sobs  and  tears. 


THE  HEAVENLY   TWINS.  679 

If  only  I  could  have  made  her  comprehend  what  the  trouble 
<fas  !  But  there  !  I  had  tried,  and  I  had  failed. 

One  little  white  foot  peeped  out  from  beneath  her  dressing 
gown,  the  pink  sole  showing.  She  had  got  out  of  bed  and 
slipped  on  her  pantoufles  only,  and  the  night  was  cold.  I  might 
have  thought  that  she  would  lie  awake  fretting  if  she  were 
left  alone  on  a  night  when  her  mind  was  so  disturbed,  and 
here  had  I  been  seeking  solace  myself  and  forgetting  that 
great  as  my  own  trouble  was  hers  must  surpass  it  even  as  the 
infinite  does  the  finite. 

But  that  error  I  could  repair,  I  hoped,  and  it  should  never 
be  repeated. 

"  Come,  my  sweetheart,"  I  said,  gathering  her  up  close  in 
my  arms.  "  So  long  as  you  will  let  me  be  a  comfort  to  you, 
you  will  not  be  able  to  hurt  me  again  ;  but  if  at  any  time  you 
will  not  listen  to  my  words,  if  nothing  I  can  do  or  say 
strengthens  or  helps  you,  if  I  cannot  keep  you  from  the  evil 
that  it  may  not  grieve  you,  then  I  shall  know  that  I  have  lost 
all  that  makes  life  worth  having,  and  I  shall  not  care  how  soon 
this  lamp  of  mine  goes  out." 

She  looked  up  at  me  in  a  strange  startled  way,  and  then  she 
clung  closer ;  and  I  thought  she  meant  that,  if  she  could 
help  it,  I  should  not  lose  the  little  all  I^ask  for  now — the  power 
to  make  her  life  endurable. 


THE    END. 


A  SUPERFLUOUS  WOMAN 

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will  be  one  of  the  literary  sensations  of  the  year." — Detroit  Commer 
cial  Advertiser. 

"  Is  one  of  the  many  novels  written  to-day  against  the  false  and 
cramped  position  of  woman.  The  fact  of  a  difference  in  the  stand 
ard  of  morals  for  men  and  women  is  moving  many  of  our  thinking 
people,  and  we  are  beginning  to  see  that  our  system  is  wrong.  It  is 
the  system  more  than  the  individual,  and  the  reform  of  the  system 
undoubtedly  rests  with  the  women.  The  author  of  this  work — 
whether  man  or  woman  does  not  appear — deplores  the  state  of  things 
which  educates  a  girl  for  no  purpose,  which  teaches  her  that  accom 
plishments  are  her  stock-in-trade  to  gain  a  husband,  which  programme, 
if  carried  out,  leaves  her  without  an  object  in  life,  and  reduces  her 
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constantly  seeking  some  new  excitement." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

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you  may  know  by  looking  steadily  into  this  picture  drawn  by  some 
strong,  but  unknown  hand." — Pittsburg  Times. 

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the  world  is  becoming  more  receptive,  and  which  are  so  distressing  to 
the  mind  and  heart  of  the  tender  that  too  often  they  are  put  aside, 
ignored,  denied,  until  some  immediate  event  brings  them  to  notice 
with  double  shock  to  the  sensitive.  And  what  is  this  lesson  ?  The 
lesson  of  heredity — the  lesson  that  the  sins  of  the  parents  are  vis 
ited  upon  the  heads  of  the  children,  even  unto  the  third  and  fourth 
generation,  an  inexorable  law  here  held  up  in  its  extremest  enforce 
ment.  The  book  is  but  one  consecutive  story,  measured  by  the  rules  of 
fiction.  There  are  no  side-issues,  but  the  author  strikes  boldly  at  the 
evils  found,  concentrating  all  her  efforts  on  the  one  thought  to  show 
the  hideous  after-effects  of  vice  and  the  crime  of  an  otherwise  inno 
cent  person  who  shares  the  responsibility  of  those  results.  .  .  We 
may  be  grateful  that  there  is  a  brave  woman  to  write  these  things  for 
us  to  read.  There  is  much  need  of  them  in  the  world." — Chicago 
Times. 

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Mrs,  Alexander's  Latest  Novel. 

The  Snare  of  the  Fowler. 

BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 
AUTHOR   OF  "THE  WOOING  O'T,"  "WHICH  SHALL  IT  BE?" 

ETC.,    ETC. 


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more  popular  in  our  homes.  .  .  Her  latest,  'The  Snare  of  the 
Fowler,'  is  written  with  her  usual  vivacity  and  is  admirably  sus 
tained." — Baltimore  American. 

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"  Well  written,  extremely  well  written." — Chicago  Times. 

"  The  different  characters  are  outlined  with  that  art  of  brilliant  con 
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lished,  since  '  The  Wooing  O't '  gave  her  so  wide  fame  when  brought 
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"  Healthfully  pure  and  moral  .  .  .  and  of  unflagging  interest." — 
Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  Mrs.  Alexander  is  a  dexterous  handler  of  plots." — Boston  Courier. 

"  Those  who  have  read  her  previous  works  will  not  be  disappointed 
in  the  present  one." — Philadelphia  Item. 

"  Pleasing  from  beginning  to  end." — Boston  Times. 


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A  Novel  of  Exceptional  Merit. 


ODT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH. 

BY 

FRANK   BARRETT, 

Author  of  "The  Admirable  Lady  Biddy 
"  Olga's  Crime,"  etc. 


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— Boston  H 'ome  Journal, 

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hands  on." — Chicago  Times. 

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THE  MEDICINE  LADY. 

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By  L.  T.  MEADE. 

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THE  STORY  OF  FRANCIS  CLUDDE. 


BY 


STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN, 

Author  of  "  A  Gentleman  of  France ,"  "  The  Man  in 
Black"  etc. 


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tures,  conspiracies \  dangers,  and  escapes,  and  there  is  not  a  dull  page 
throughout.  The  hero  is  all  a  hero  should  be,  brave,  generous, 
successful.  .  .  It  is  a  capital  book  for  boys,  girls,  and  grown-up 
people." — The  Guardian. 

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little  ;  there  is  none  that  is  not  overrunning  with  dramatic  incident, 
and  this  without  a  moment's  monotony.  Moreover,  the  style  has  the 
exceedingly  unusual  merit  of  being  entirely  free  from  the  taint  of 
affected  archaism,  and  yet  of  being  in  harmony  with  its  period.  The 
story  of  Francis  Cludde  is  altogether  one  to  be  enjoyed,  both  by  old 
and  young." — The  Graphic. 

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very  high  order. " —  The  Bradford  Observer. 

"  There  is  not  a  dull  page  from  beginning  to  end." — The  Western 
Daily  Mercury. 

"  '  The  Story  of  Francis  Cludde'  is  an  admirable  piece  of  work. 
As  an  essay  in  what  was  thought  to  be  the  lost  art  of  historical 
romance,  it  must  take  very  high  rank  among  the  best.  .  .  The 
story  is  laid  in  the  last  years  of  Que'en  Mary's  reign,  and  the  de'noue- 
ment  is  brought  about  with  great  skill  and  without  any  straining. 
Everyone  is  recommended  to  read  '  The  Story  of  Francis  Cludde  ' 
as  a  capital  book  in  an  old  style,  which  is  better  than  the  new." — 
The  Melbourne  Argus. 


THE  CASSELL  PUBLISHING  CO., 

31  East  1 7th  St.  (Union  Square),  New  York. 
107 


THE   EMIGRANT   SHIP. 

By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL, 

Author  of"  List,  ye  Landsmen  !  "  "'•The  Romance  of  a  Transport" 
'•'The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor"  etc.,  etc. 

One  Volume.        12mo.        Cloth.        Hl.OO. 

"  The  story  is  told  with  excellent  directness,  and  the  atmosphere  of  life  aboard 
an  emigrant  ship  is  admirably  conveyed  to  the  reader.  There  is  no  sea  technicality 
to  speak  of,  the  whole  interest  of  the  story  being  concentrated  in  the  hero's  plan 
to  develop  a  crew  among  his  women  passengers.  On  the  whole,  '  The  Emigrant 
Ship'  is  one  of  the  most  readable  of  Mr.  Russell's  charming  tales." — New  York 
Times. 

44  For  a  very  fine  tonic  in  the  way  of  fiction  commend  us  always  to  Mr.  Clark 
Russell.  The  sea  never  fails  to  lash  itself  in  a  most  beautiful  manner  when  he  is 
about.  He  has,  perhaps,  as  vigorous  a  vocabulary  as  anybody  now  going.  He 
can  talk  in  strong  and  splendid  phrase  too  of  more  things  than  the  sea."—  New 
York  Sun. 

44  On  the  whole,  the  best  which  Mr.  Russell  has  produced.  It  is  beautifully 
bound  and  makes  a  marine  library  without  it  seem  poverty-stricken."— Boston 
Daily  Traveller. 

""  Is  readable  from  beginning  to  end.  No  better  sea  story  has  been  written." — 
Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

14  The  keen  salt  breath  of  the  sea  flows  through  all  his  descriptions,  and  he 
makes  his  readers  feel  its  inspiration  as  he  feels  it  himself.  No  one  knows  better 
the  methods  of  ocean  life,  and  no  one  handles  its  fascination  more  subtly  or  skill 
fully,  while  for  the  reader  who  lov«6  a  story  for  the  story's  sake  this  tale  is  worth 
half  a  dozen  of  modern  4  society  '  novels." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

44  Will  appeal  to  all  such  as  love  the  sea  and  the  free  and  breezy  stories  of  it 
which  are  characteristic  of  this  keen  student  and  ardent  lover  of  its  moods  and 
vagaries." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

""  There  is  a  genuine  sea  flavor  to  Clark  Russell's  stories,  a  salty  taste,  a  smell  of 
ropes  and  rigging,  and  the  bracing  freshness  of  the  ocean  air.  There  is  also  the 
freedom  of  the  broad  seas,  but  with  all  this  there  is  neither  the  vulgarity  nor  the 
devilishness  which  so  many  nautical  writers  seem  to  think  it  necessary  to  affect. 
His  sea  tales  are  original  to  a  striking  degree,  they  are  never  dull,  and  withal  they 
are  clean  and  wholesome.  They  make  good  reading  for  old  boys  as  well  as 
young." — Baltimore  Telegram. 

""  The  sea  stories  of  W.  Clark  Russell  have  delighted  readers  for  a  goodly  num 
ber  of  years,  and  a  new  story  by  the  author  of  4  The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor '  is 
always  hailed  with  delight.  .  .  That  the-story  is  of  thrilling  interest  and  novelty 
goes  without  saying." — Boston  Journal. 

44  It  is  bright,  interesting,  strong.  .  .  There  is  more  of  human  nature  in  it  than 
in  any  of  his  previous  books." — New  York  World. 

""  Where  is  the  boy,  old  or  young,  with  a  heart  in  him  who  doesn't  know  how 
incomparably  well  he  writes  his  amazing  adventures  on  the  high  seas  ?  Here  we 
have  a  story  which  could  only  by  any  possible  chance  proceed  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  Russell."— Philadelphia  Press. 

""  W.  Clark  Russell  stands  without  a  peer  as  a  master  in  telling  marine  stories. 
He  is  thoroughly  at  home  at  sea,  and  his  new  novel,  4  The  Emigrant  Ship,'  is  one 
of  his  best.  The  plot  is  fresh  and  the  development  is  most  skillful."— Boston 
Daily  Advertiser. 

THE  CASSELL  PUBLISHING  CO., 

31  EAST  I7TH  ST.  (UNION  SQUARE),  NEW  YORK. 
104 


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